“Great.” Sonny kept his eyes straight ahead as he continued to carry the insulation toward the barn.
Cassie held onto his jacket sleeve and walked with him. “Have you met her yet?”
“No.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Cass, I need to get these inside.”
“Sonny …”
He turned his dark, almond-shaped eyes on her face. “What?”
Cassie smiled beseechingly. “Don’t be mad at me.”
“Right. Why would I be mad?” he asked sarcastically.
“I thought we had worked that out. What’s done is done. Can’t we just move on?”
“Excuse me.” Sonny brushed past her with the rolls of insulation.
Cassie hurried along beside him as he headed for the barn once more. “Sonny, she’s blind.”
He stopped in his tracks and looked at her.”Who’s blind?”
“The woman. Shelby. She was in a car accident, and she must have gone through the windshield. Her face is all scars, and she’s blind.”
“No shit. How old is she?”
“Maybe a little older than us, but not much. They’re not married, you know.”
Sonny raised one eyebrow in mock surprise. “Oh, no.”
Cassie laughed and punched him in the upper arm. It seemed like forever since she had hugged him, and she wanted so badly to put her arms around him now. She leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, “You know what else? They don’t even sleep together!”
“Jeezum, Cass, what did she do, tell you her whole life story or what?”
“Just part of it.”
Sonny shook his head and resumed his journey to the barn.
“By the way, I start tomorrow,” she called after him.
“Great. See you then.” He disappeared into the depths of the barn, leaving her in the dooryard looking after him.
Cassie’s best friend, Marcia, lived in a trailer on Deerkill Road. The trailer sat alone on the edge of a cornfield in a clearing just big enough for it, a narrow drive, and a parking space for her husband’s rig when he was home. More often than not, however, he was on the road, a long-distance trucker sometimes gone for weeks at a time. The cornfield and the trailer belonged to his parents who lived half a mile up the road and were Marcia’s closest neighbors. In the winter the field was reduced to stubble, as was the field across the road, and this year the stubble was well-hidden beneath over three feet of snow. The snow-covered fields were crisscrossed with innumerable snowmobile tracks, some running in wide circles and figure-eights, but many traveling in a direct line that ended at Marcia’s trailer. If her in-laws noticed, they never questioned it, for Marcia was a friendly person who seemed to know a lot of people, and it was not surprising that a cold snowmobiler might stop for a hot cup of something while out for a midnight ride. Although she never complained, they knew it must be lonely for her being alone most nights. But they were elderly and found it hard to stay up past nine, and so she declined their offers to stay with them and remained in her isolated trailer on the edge of the field. When she was home alone and Teddy was out of town, she kept the light at her back door turned on. For a festive touch, she had put in a green light bulb. Its distinctive hue glowed across the snowy fields, a welcoming beacon for snowmobilers seeking a little respite from the cold.
Tonight, however, the light was off for Marcia was not alone. One of her favorite non-snowmobilers had stopped by for something hot. His pickup was parked down the road a ways where the woods began and visibility was reduced. He had arrived at her door with cheeks rosy from the cold and hair dusted with snow. She had helped him out of his parka, then playfully brushed the snow from his loose brown curls. He always smelled of shampoo and soap and clean cold fresh air, something she could not say of all those who came to see her. Cleanliness was important to her, however, and so she always made sure they washed before they came to her bed. In Grant’s case, she never worried.
He had gone to her sink for a glass of water, and she glanced at the red beeper on his belt.
“What do you plan to do if that thing goes off? Fly out of here again?”
Grant downed his water and placed the glass on the sink. “Yup.”
She came up from behind and pressed her body against his. “Depends on where we’re at,” she purred. “Last time I let you go.”
Grant’s boyish grin lit up his eyes as he turned to face her. She was not an exceptionally pretty woman, but she was definitely the sexiest he had ever known. Her body was exquisite, and she loved having it admired. In return, she made each man who came to her feel that he was special, that she waited anxiously for him to return. That while he knew he wasn’t the only one, each was confident he was the most important. Grant smiled down on her and slipped his hands around her waist. She was wearing the type of outfit he liked best, a blouse that buttoned up the front and a soft, loose-flowing skirt.
She slipped the beeper from his belt and placed it on the drainboard of the sink, then proceeded to unbuckle his belt. He buried his face in her soft, fragrant hair and waited to feel her hand on the bulge straining against his jeans. She knew what he wanted, however, and she kept him waiting, sliding her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, brushing his inner thigh with her hand. When he was almost to the point of desperation, she gave in and pressed her palm against the denim-covered bulge and snuggled her face against his neck. He shuddered and moaned and brought his hands up to unbutton her blouse, exposing her breasts before cradling their roundness. He felt for her nipples and squeezed them hard, and she moaned contentedly. They knew each other well.
They never talked during sex, nor did they linger afterwards, for they were not lovers in the truest sense. Each needed and wanted the sex and enjoyed it to the fullest, and for that they appreciated one another and shared a fondness that came of shared pleasures. When he left, she rarely accompanied him to the door. She might go to sleep then, or, if her hormones were still racing, she might get up and turn on the outside light. But she always checked carefully first to make sure he was gone, for men’s egos were delicate things. And she liked Grant a lot. He was a gentleman and a friend, and he always treated her with respect.
Tonight, though, she was still in the mood when Grant picked up his beeper and left. Not that he hadn’t done well by her, although he had been hornier than usual and a little too fast. But tonight, after eleven, her favorite snowmobiler of all was coming. She hurried into the shower and did her best to wash away the evidence of Grant. Not that it would matter to this dude. When he needed her, nothing else mattered.
She slipped into fresh silky underpants and a tight pantsuit that zipped up the front. With the bed all straightened and the pillows fluffed, she went into the darkened kitchen and peered out through the window. A set of snowmobile lights was bouncing through the field, coming her way. She waited for the signal from a handheld flashlight, then turned the green light on and off. With her zipper carefully adjusted to the proper cleavage exposure, she stood at the back door and waited anxiously for Sonny Penfield to arrive.
Chapter Six
Grant and Larry paused outside the kitchen door to knock the sawdust from their boots. Shane came up behind them and did the same, then reached around Larry and pushed the door open. The three men stepped into a warm, sunny kitchen filled with the satisfying smell of baking bread.
Cassie Marsh was standing before the electric stove slicing carrots into a pot of stew. She smiled and nodded a greeting, then turned back to her work. Grant noticed a slight bulge in the front where her apron pulled her loose shirt taut. He had helped her carry her things in when she arrived the day before, and it had been the first time he had taken a good look at her in a long time. She had matured into an attractive young woman with ruddy cheeks and a healthy glow, or was it just that pregnancy agreed with her? But no, he had always been aware of Floyd Marsh’s girls and the hardy stock they represented. Marsh women had an earth-mother quality about them. They were the
nurturers and caretakers who tended their big families while still managing to work in the fields, milk cows, and drive tractors. In addition, they were the main workforce behind the church suppers and fire department fundraisers. One of Grant’s maternal uncles had married a sister to Floyd Marsh. In addition to their own four children, they had taken in innumerable foster children over the years, many of whom had never moved on and were simply assimilated into the family. Knowing this, it did not surprise Grant that Cassie had accepted this position, taking care of a household for an invalid. It did not even surprise him that she was pregnant out of wedlock.
What surprised him was that she must be at least twenty-five years old and was still unmarried. He found it hard to believe that she was holding out for Sonny Penfield. Sonny was such a sullen, brooding malcontent while Cassie seemed fun-loving and full of life. Apparently, the right young man simply had not come along yet. Perhaps she would meet someone when Freeman’s apprenticeship program began in the spring.
The other person in the kitchen was the one he and Larry had come to see. She was seated at the table with a computer in front of her and headphones on her head. She was oblivious to their presence, her eyes downcast in the direction of the computer keys, her face impassive. Grant had seen her yesterday when he had helped Cassie unload, and so the impact of her disfigurement was not as great. Still it struck an eerie chord in him as he looked at her now. Depending on the angle, she was at once beautiful and repelling, and she made his heart ache although he didn’t even know her. Perhaps her red hair made him think of Corey and how terrible it would be to see her disfigured this way.
Shane went up to her and touched her lightly on the arm. She responded with a smile, her large gray eyes traveling in his direction as if she could see him as she slipped the earphones from her head. Shane reached across her to shut off the computer, and she pressed her head against him in a gesture of affection. His hand rested protectively on her shoulder as he stood beside her chair and introduced Larry and Grant. She bade them sit down while Shane pulled out a chair on the end of the table. They declined her offer of coffee or tea and went straight to the subject of trees.
She listened attentively to their explanation of how intelligent tapping would not harm the trees and how it was in their best interests to maintain their sugar orchards carefully as they hoped to sugar for many years to come. She asked questions about their methods and procedures, admitting she knew little about the process. They quoted statistics and data gathered by a University of Vermont study to assure her they knew the proper number of taps per size of tree and what they could expect for yield. They explained why the trees on her hillside property were in a prime location for a pipeline operation and how they would run a large diameter plastic pipeline as the central line with smaller lines branching off and running to individual trees. The large gathering tanks would sit at the bottom of the hill near the road and be emptied on a daily basis or more often, if necessary, and the sap trucked to their sugarhouse in the valley below Grant’s cabin. There they would boil the sap over a wood fire for several hours until the water was evaporated off and only the golden syrup remained. They would pay her for the use of her trees in either cash or syrup, whichever she preferred.
She sat quietly thinking when they were finished, and Grant watched her face. Her eyes looked so normal and moved so naturally, it was easy to forget she was blind. He wondered if she would have fixed the jagged scars if she could see them, and why Shane or someone close to her didn’t urge her to have plastic surgery.
She cleared her throat and turned her eyes in Larry’s direction. She would like some time to think about it, she said, but she’d let them know before they left for home today. They thanked her for her time and left through the door to the ell.
Cassie followed them outside. “I’ll put in a good word for you,” she smiled and gave them a conspiratorial wink. “By the way, would you ask Sonny to stop by and see me before he leaves?”
“He’s not here today,” Larry answered. “He and Blake are off in Burlington looking for some special hardware and stuff. They’ll be in tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Cassie’s faded smile was not lost on Grant. She really was stuck on Penfield.
“We’ll make sure he stops by tomorrow,” Grant said. “How’s the job going?”
Cassie’s face brightened once more. “Good. I really like her. Him, too. You know, he actually smiles when they’re together! I didn’t think he knew how.”
“He probably figures he can get away with it ‘cuz she can’t see it,” Larry said.
Cassie frowned at him. “That’s cruel.”
“Sorry, but I just don’t like the guy. I think he’s taking advantage of her. This whole construction thing is just for him, but it’s her money. I’ll bet she got some big settlement from the guy that hit her.”
“Hardly our business,” Grant cut in. He gave her a quiet smile before turning to Larry. “See you later, Cassie. I’m glad it’s working out for you. Let’s go, Dr. Brothers.”
“Do you know those two?” Shelby asked Cassie when the latter returned to the kitchen. Shane had gone to the barn, and the two women were alone.
“Grant and Larry? Sure.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Well, they’re a couple years older than me. Twenty-seven or twenty-eight. They both grew up here. They’re natives. Larry’s married and has a new baby …” Cassie’s heart skipped a beat and she glanced at Shelby, but the latter’s face remained unchanged. “They’ve been married a long time actually. Him and Suzanne. Grant’s not married. He went to college – UVM, I think – but I don’t know what he went for. They’re both carpenters, and they sugar. They’ve been friends for years. They’re really nice guys, and they know what they’re doing with the trees.”
“What do they look like?”
Cassie was momentarily taken aback. “What do they look like?”
“Yes. What do they look like? I’m still a red-blooded woman, you know, “ Shelby grinned.
Cassie smiled back out of habit. “Well, Larry’s short and a little overweight. Kind of a beer belly, I guess. He’s got dark hair and a dark beard; he’s very French-Canadian. Kind of a long face. A little goofy looking. Grant’s pretty good-looking, I think. He’s taller, but not real tall. Five nine, maybe. His hair’s brown and curly. Not tight like Shane’s, but soft curls. Nice. He grows a beard in the winter, and it’s reddish brown. Real thick. He shaves it off in the summer, and then he gets that five o’clock shadow. He’s got brown eyes and kind of a square jaw.”
“Which one talked to me like I was twelve?”
Cassie grinned. “Larry.”
Shelby nodded.
“You know, nobody around here is as good-looking as Shane,” Cassie ventured.
“Really? I’ve never seen Shane.”
“Never? God, he’s gorgeous.”
“So I’ve heard.” Shelby spoke quietly, almost wistfully.
“I guess I thought you were old friends.” Cassie immediately regretted her words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so familiar.” She returned to the sink to continue peeling potatoes for the stew and hoped she hadn’t overstepped her bounds.
“No, I met Shane when I was living in Maine with a friend,” Shelby said, as if she hadn’t heard the apology. “My college roommate. She lives on a blueberry farm with her husband, and I went there after I got out of the hospital. My parents were driving me nuts, and I couldn’t stay with them anymore. Anyway, my friends couldn’t afford to hire migrant workers to harvest their blueberries, so they used to import all their friends, give them room and board, and have them rake. Sort of a working vacation in Maine. Shane was one of their friends. He lived in Portland, and he was working as a musician and a singer. He writes his own songs, and he has a beautiful voice. Anyway, I met him there the first summer, and he was one of the first people to sit and talk to me like I was a human being and not a freak. I was still in terrible shape, of course, emotionally and
physically, and I don’t know why he put himself through listening to me like that. Except that he is a very sensitive and caring person.”
Larry’s cynical words immediately raced through Cassie’s mind: I think he’s taking advantage of her. She tried to dispel them as best she could. “He seems to care a lot about you.”
“People don’t understand about us. I’m sure many around here wonder already,” Shelby said quietly. “We were lovers once. We’re not anymore. The reasons aren’t important. But we still love each other, and we want to be together. Why don’t you tell me about your boyfriend?”
“Sonny?”
“Is that his name? What’s he like?”
“His name is Dawson. Penfield. He’s, uh, he’s tall. A little over six feet. Big, but not heavy. Just strong. Most carpenters are strong.”
“What’s his face like?”
Cassie smiled at the question. “Well, he’s half Indian. American Indian. Abenaki. And it shows. His hair is near black and straight and his eyes are real dark and a little bit slanted. He’s got like a year-round tan and a real nice face. Kind of wide with good cheekbones. He doesn’t smile much, though.”
Lonely Souls Page 6