Naked in the Winter Wind

by Dani Haviland

  Rocky seemed to be enjoying his human family’s journey. Every day, the oversized canine got up early and patrolled the perimeter of our campsite. After circling the area a couple of times, he’d give a “wuff,” then head back into the brush to catch a bird or a squirrel, or maybe snag a fish from a creek. He must be part retriever—sometimes he even brought back some of his fare for me to cook. We still had plenty of elk, but I appreciated the change from the smoked or jerked lean meat. I really did believe Rocky liked to help Ian take care of me; it seemed I had become his pet.

  Because Ian didn’t have to stop to hunt for breakfast or dinner, we made good time. Setting up camp had become a quick and easy routine. Ian chose the site, grabbed wood for the fire, and got it started. I unpacked the pot and plate, prepared dinner, and set up our bedding. If we hadn’t done it already, Ian would refill the water bottles. Rocky sat contentedly at the edge of the activity, watching us labor, eating his dinner raw. He seemed to enjoy our routine, too.

  After we finished our evening meal, and I had cleaned and put away both our dishes, Ian and I would sit, always his left arm wrapped around my shoulders, cuddled together in front of the fire—every night, in the same position, facing the same direction, west. We watched the sun dip below the horizon, streaks of weak winter clouds sometimes joining the glowing orb’s nighttime disappearing act, treating us to a brilliant—or ‘psycho deltic’ as Ian would say—sunset. We didn’t talk much. I still had amnesia, he had already shared the highlights of his youth—and I definitely didn’t want to bring up any recent events—so we just chilled, Rocky’s furry back next to ours. The fire was too hot for him, but he liked being close to us.

  When it came time for bed, Rocky would saunter away, leaving us alone until we had settled down. He would lay a considerate ten feet away, his muzzle on top of his front paws, eyes shifting back and forth, up and down, following our movements. He waited until all activity was over, and then lay at our feet.

  I loved my daily grind. The days always started and ended the same. The weather and locations of our evening campsites were different, but the familiarity of doing the same chores, in the same order, was comforting to me. I didn’t think about the future or wonder about my past—it was just the here and now that mattered. Any fright or anxiety I may have had at the onset of our trek was sedated by the rhythm of the days and nights. Yup, Prozac and Zoloft couldn’t even come close to the soothing effects of a consistent routine and love.

  Around one week into our exodus, I sensed a change in Ian. He had an edge about him, as if he knew something was going to happen soon—he was anticipating it.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” I asked as I nudged him shoulder-to-shoulder, trying to be light without directly questioning his wariness.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s jest that we’re verra close to New Bern and I want to make sure we get there soon. I guess I’m excited about seeing Angus and his family again. He was like a grandfather to me. My mother’s father died when she was a wee lass. Angus was her uncle, her father’s brother. He had been married to his first wife—that would be Margaret—fer more than twenty years. She had been barren, so it was jest the two of them. Then she died and it was jest him. A year or so later, he took a young—verra young—bride. He and his new wife—that would be Mary Margaret—soon had six wee ’uns. She dinna seem to mind that he was older, and he loved havin’ a big family.”

  His words were sincere enough, but didn’t feel right. He was holding back, hiding something. I was sure he knew more than he was telling me. Two days later, when I finally got the nerve to ask him what was wrong, he shrugged, snorted, and then grumbled, “Nothin’.”

  Well, his nothin’ was sure preoccupying him. He was uncharacteristically quiet, almost like a sound vacuum. All of my attempts at conversation were dispassionately ignored. He focused on trivial issues, obsessively double-checking every rock, ridge, and gully we passed.

  That night, I didn’t want to go to sleep. I felt like I was losing him a little bit at a time, and if I didn’t grab onto him right now, he’d be lost to me forever. I wanted to memorize everything about him, the way his eyebrows moved when he dreamed, the crooked bend of his nose, those star-shaped tattoos across his cheekbones, his musky, wet woodland scent, the curves of his shoulders, and the deep dips beneath his collarbones. I stayed awake as long as I could, just breathing in the smell of him, feeling the tickle of his chest hairs on my nose, the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed, and the little snorts he gave when in a deep sleep.

  Rocky was ill at ease, too. Either he was sensing something from Ian, or he was concerned that I wasn’t sleeping. I rubbed my foot into his fur, trying to let him know I was glad he was with us, and that I was okay. He picked up his head and did something he had never done before—he licked me.

  I finally dozed off just before dawn. Or at least I think that’s when it was. I had spent a long night impressing the essence of my husband into my mind and soul, and reflecting on the world around me, my life as I knew it now.

  My life now—that was all I knew. What was it like before my fall? Did I live in a big house, or in a hovel? Did I have a husband and children? If I had a family, did they miss me, and were they trying to find me? Why did Ian, whom I loved so much, still seem so different from me? Was the rest of his family like him, clever in the backwoods ways, but ignorant of modern life? Where were the paved roads, planes, and power lines in this part of the country? Where was I that plastic bottles, zippers, and battery-powered lights were unheard of? And why was Ian always trying to get me to believe my gear was from Italy? I didn’t know anything about the local geography, but New Bern sounded like the name of a city to me, not just a collection of cabins. Come to think of it, though, I’ve never even seen a cabin here. I was beginning to feel like I was in the Twilight Zone. Now I just wished I knew what the Twilight Zone was.

  Ӂ

  The next morning, Ian was louder than needed as we headed out. If I didn’t know better—and I didn’t—I’d believe he was signaling someone. He was carrying the elk harvest bundle on his back. The only load I had was my backpack and the ominous feeling that something was about to happen.

  “Are ye comfortable with the pack?” he hollered, when a soft comment would have sufficed.

  It was unsettling. Well, at least I was pretty sure something was going on. He had never put on airs for me before, so I didn’t know what to expect.

  If he was louder than usual, I was quieter. I was concentrating on the landscape as we trudged along, searching for anything that didn’t belong. Actually, I was trudging and he was marching. I’d peek at Ian when I didn’t think he was watching. He was looking straight ahead with an expression between sadness and apprehension. I thought he would be happy to see his great-uncle, but if he was, he sure wasn’t showing it.

  “Are you sure you’re happy about seeing Uncle Angus again?” I asked, making certain I had a good view of his face and expression.

  “Oh, aye, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him. Like I told ye, he has quite the family. I’ll be glad to see ‘em. That, and I’m hopin’ they’ll have a bit of bread to eat. And maybe a little sweet jam to go with it, aye? I’m sure Mary Margaret will have a bit of soap and some hot water fer ye to clean with. I think ye’ll like that. Women seem to like smellin’ good.”

  Ian sounded happy, but there was a shadow of sadness in his face as he spoke. “We’ll have maybe one more night in the woods, and then we’ll be in New Bern, stayin’ in a house with four walls and a roof. Do ye think ye’ll miss sleepin’ out under the stars?” he asked absently.

  “Well, if I do, I’ll just grab a couple of blankets and head outside. That’s easier than trying to build a house here in the wilderness, out of nothing but wishes and wants!” I smiled at what I thought was a clever remark, but his face remained stoic, his mind elsewhere.

  We traveled the rest of the day in relative silence. I tried to talk to him a couple of times, but he was so involved in
what was going on in his head that he didn’t hear me. Rather than call his attention to not listening to me, I just ignored it and went on with the trudging. I’d find out sooner or later what was coming our way. I was curious, but not afraid, and sure that he wouldn’t lead us—or at least me—into harm’s way.

  That night we set up what was supposed to be our last campsite under the open sky. We had a light dinner of jerky and broth, and went to bed early. Ian was more loving and tender than…well, ever. He paid attention to every part of my body, beginning at the top of my head. He gently parted my bangs, kissed my forehead, my cheeks, and then showed me how highly erogenous my ears could be. He slowly and effectively worked his lovemaking south, paying homage to my breasts and belly, stroking and massaging both the insides and outsides of my thighs, pausing to taste and tickle the innermost spots, then continued all the way down to my feet and ankles, actually making me blush with what he did to my toes.

  It was as if he were making love to me for the last time. That thought had crossed my mind about the time he was suckling my shoulders, but I ignored it, not wanting to convert any of my passionate emotions into worry. I was totally involved in the here and now, feeling more loved and fulfilled than I had ever thought possible.

  The last thought I had before I fell asleep was, ‘I wonder if this grin will ever leave my face.’ I felt him pull the elk robe over my shoulders, and then I slept so hard, I didn’t even dream.

  Ӂ

  I awoke flat on my back to the smell of bacon frying. I hadn’t smelled bacon since—duh! I couldn’t remember when—but I did recognize that smoky, comforting aroma. I rolled my head to the side and saw I was alone under the elk-hide robe. Ian was squatted next to the fire, turning the bacon so it wouldn’t burn. His fingers darted into the frying pan, flipped the meat quickly, and then pulled back, as if a piece had bit him. He raised his hand to his mouth and sucked the greasy digits, soothing the burns while taking a quick taste of our unexpected breakfast fare.

  He wasn’t by himself. A tall man dressed in Native American garb was standing next to him. I didn’t think he was native though: his brown hair was greased back and tied with a thong, and was wavy, with blond streaks in it.

  I stayed quiet in order to hear them, resisting the overwhelming urge to turn over. I was fully awake now, and uncomfortably aware of how stiff and sore my back was. I couldn’t understand what they were saying anyhow because it wasn’t English. Hmm, I wondered if I spoke languages other than English? Time would tell on that one.

  Ian must have sensed I was awake because he stood up and turned around. “Evie, we have company this morning. He’s brought good news along with a bit of bacon. Ye do like bacon, aye?”

  “Oh, the bacon smells great. Who’s your friend?” I asked as I brushed the hair out of my face. I stayed under the elk-hide robe, touching myself discretely to make sure I had my clothes on. I still had on both my shirts, but my panties were around one ankle. I tugged them up, pulled my fleecy pillow out from under my head and turned it back into my pants, and managed to wiggle into them without knocking off the elk robe. Modesty ensured, I arose awkwardly and stepped into my boots to greet our breakfast provider.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” the tall, good-looking stranger said, then bent into a deep bow. His dress was native, but his accent was genuine English, as in English from England. It wasn’t Cockney or coarse, but proper, highfalutin diction, and formal enough to be used in the King’s court. He was about the same height as Ian, but was filled out, more meat than bones in the chest and shoulders.

  “Oh, and this is Little Bear,” Ian added quickly. “He says he kens where Uncle Jody is and that we can be there in jest two days. I ken ye were expectin’ to be with my Uncle Angus this afternoon, but Uncle Jody and Auntie Sarah are in the other direction. Are ye up to travelin’ jest a couple more days?”

  I hated to be reminded of my chronic fatigue. I knew if I had a normal energy level, we could travel faster and longer. The two-day trip would probably be just one long day if it weren’t for me. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Little Bear, you didn’t happen to bring coffee and a pot to cook it in, did you? Maybe I could move faster and longer if I had caffeine.”

  “It just so happens that I do have coffee. I don’t believe I have ever heard of caffeine though. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll go down to the creek and fill the pot with water. It shouldn’t be too much longer until we have fresh coffee for you.”

  Little Bear gave a short bow to excuse himself, then walked over to his mule and the leather saddlebag on her back. The flap was decorated with an etching of a small bear attacking a big man who looked as if he had a crown on his head. The bag had cut fringe on the bottom edge and an unusual knotted closure. Little Bear’s hands worked swiftly as he retrieved a small enameled coffee pot, dark blue flecked with white. I watched him quickly and quietly shuffle down the ravine toward the creek. It was if his feet never touched the ground. I realized I had been staring, but justified it to myself as looking at the mule and artwork, not the man.

  I turned back to Ian and looked him right in the eyes. I didn’t say anything, but waited for him to speak first. He squatted down again, avoiding my glare, and began rolling up our bedding, trying to look busy. That was hard to do since, beyond the elk robe, there wasn’t much to pack.

  I guessed it was up to me to say something. “Will Little Bear be coming with us?” I asked cheerily, a mock smile plastered on my face.

  Ian’s mouth hung open in disbelief—he hadn’t expected that. He probably thought I was going to whine and complain about not going to New Bern or having to travel two days more than originally planned. He closed his mouth and composed himself as the fake smile on my face became real; I liked being unpredictable.

  “Oh, aye, I suppose he’ll be joinin’ us,” he said as he stood up. “He was already travelin’ in that direction when he found our site. We, um, have been friends fer a couple of years or more. He’s a great scout and a good man to have on yer side in a fight. I suppose ye already figured out he isna from around here originally?”

  “Yes, it’s quite obvious by his manners. Oh, and I think I did detect a bit of an English accent,” I drolled, winking at the understatement.

  Little Bear was next to the fire, putting the coffee grounds in the pot. He had sneaked in—or rather, had come back so quietly I hadn’t noticed his return. Being able to move swiftly and silently like that was certainly an enviable skill. His stealth was a little unnerving to be sure. It was a good thing he was a friend, not a foe. Cool, a friend—someone else to talk to.

  But that wasn’t how it played out. It was a quick and, for me, uncomfortably quiet breakfast of coffee and bacon. I supposed they had already done all their talking before I woke up, and there was nothing important enough to be said to me.

  I came back from my potty break and saw we were ready to go. My measly clean up chores had already been done. The breakfast pots and dishes were already packed away, and Ian was lashing our bundles onto Little Bear’s mule. There was still a little bit of room left on her back for our portage, so neither of us had any load to carry.

  Little Bear had been trapping all winter and had acquired an impressively large cache of beaver and mink pelts. They stank, but I had smelled worse. I didn’t, however, want to think about that all-too-recent episode.

  I had never told Ian about the kidnapping. He didn’t need anyone else on his retaliation/extermination list, and we were now far away from Abe and his family. Anyhow, the stink was tolerable, and I would just have to remember it was only dead animal skins—not degenerate males—that were the source of the foul odor.

  Little Bear led the way, and Ian and I were close behind. We traveled slowly because of me. The pokey pace made it easier for me to maneuver away from the prevailing scent of the uncured pelts and was also convenient for making quick getaways for my frustratingly frequent potty stops.

  At midday, Little Bear signaled a halt to ou
r journey with a raised hand. He didn’t unpack the mule, but did remove his daypack. He opened it up and took out a package of what looked like parchment wrapped with a leather thong.

  Ian came over to join him and announced, “Ye’ll be stayin’ here fer a long dinner break. I’ll go on ahead to check out somethin’ suspect. It’s probably nothin’, though. Ye’ll be fine here with Little Bear. He’s brought out a special treat fer ye.”

  Ian leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, almost blushing as he glanced over at Little Bear. Evidently he was uncomfortable with public displays of affection.

  He then stood tall and said something that sounded almost like a military command to Little Bear. They were speaking that foreign language again—I couldn’t make out even one of the words.

  Ian disappeared into the brush. He, too, was as silent as daylight as he traveled through the tangle of evergreen trees and shrubs, bare branches, and those tan weedy plants that still had dead leaves and seedpods clinging to them. He had lost any trace of a limp from his foot injuries weeks ago, and his hands were completely healed, too. His ears and eyes were sharp, sharper than mine were. If they had been better before the incident, he must have had super powers.

  I wished I could say the same about his mental health. Of course, I didn’t know him before his trial by torture, but I didn’t think anyone who went through life so sullen and quiet would be considered normal. I kept telling myself that he could still be normal, but that he just hadn’t finished recovering. I only had myself to compare his temperament to. Maybe I was the odd one—overly perky and outgoing—and he was the normal one.

  Yes, I was perky and handling life ‘jest fine.’ Well, the last two weeks were fine, but today was just wrong! Instance by instance, nothing was amiss, but the overall, anxious effect it had on me was more than just uncomfortable.

  I knew what it was, though: my lifestyle had been turned inside out and crinkled. There was a new person in my life. That alone was extraordinary, but now he was a traveling companion, too. Okay, I’d adjust to that. But, the only other person I knew in the whole world had just left, too, supposedly for only a few hours.