by K Larsen
Holden’s voice is stern when he speaks to her. It’s clear he’s protective of her. She nods at him and continues devouring her breakfast. Holden lifts his chin toward the woodstove, which is also the cooking stove. “Coffee’s ready, if you want some.” I nearly groan with pleasure at the mention of coffee. While I fix my mug, Holden scrapes his fork against his plate with each bite. The sound is jarring in the quiet room.
“Oh. Meant to mention,” he says, standing to clear his plate. “If you hear gunshots later on, it’s just those trespassing hunters who keep coming ‘round.” He puts his plate in the sink.
“Is it safe to explore? Do I need an orange hat or something?”
Explosive laughter rips from him. He clutches at his midsection. I look to Lotte but she stares at her plate, finishing off the last of her breakfast. I’ve barely even had time to start mine and they are both finished. As if it were a race to eat. As if the food might run out.
“You’re safe here. Lotte won’t take you anywhere you shouldn’t go. Right. Lotte?”
She stands, holding her plate expressionlessly. “Yeah.”
My shoulders slump at the morning routine as I eat. Lotte leaves me to get started on feeding the animals since I’m so slow.
When I step onto the porch, Holden is fifty yards away, swinging a hammer, driving nails into a board. I step off the porch and he looks up, flips his hammer and tips his hat at me. I stifle the giggle that wants to erupt from my throat. I’ve never had a hat tipped at me before, nor have I seen someone wield a hammer the way he just did. Extending his right arm out straight, he points me in the direction of Lotte. I watch him a moment longer. He doesn’t look like the guys at home. He’s sinewy and graceful, like a mountain lion. Feral looking or maybe just unhindered by the norms of city society. His forearms bulge with every swing of the hammer. He isn’t your typical go-to-image of hotness but there is definitely something hot about him. I look away and head in the direction he offered.
I sneak up on Lotte. “How can I help?” I ask.
Lotte holds the apron of her skirt so it makes a pouch. It’s full of grain. She grabs handfuls and tosses it out around the chicken coop. “I’m almost done,” she says.
“Wow, you’re fast.”
She doesn’t stop her work. “Holden likes fast.”
I look at her while she finishes up. “What do you do for fun?” Her hair is wild but pretty. Her garb old fashioned but functional here on the farm. But dark circles tarnish what would otherwise be bright eyes.
Lotte doesn’t look at me but shrugs. When the last of the grain is gone, she drops her apron and wipes her hands off on it.
“You must know some cool places,” I say.
“There’s a creek we can swim in. Sometimes there are frogs, too. Ev-” Lotte freezes with tears in her eyes. I don’t know why Eve is such a touchy subject but it clearly sets Lotte off.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry she left you. It’s obvious you really loved her.”
A shot rings out. It echoes off the land around us. It startles me. Lotte sniffs and uses the backs of her hands to wipe at her eyes before pulling herself together. She reaches out and grabs my hand.
She forces a smile. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
When we pass back around the house, Holden is gone.
Weeks one and two span on the same every day. Wake early, rush through breakfast, chores, then Lotte time. Lunch was more relaxed and dinner was quiet—everyone too tired to do much more than eat. Lotte’s chores stunned me. She was responsible for a lot daily. Much more than I had ever been responsible for daily at her age. Occasionally, Holden lets me help with meals or some light housekeeping but mostly I am treated like a guest. Sometimes we talk, mostly we don’t. Holden is strong and silent. He is warm when needed but also appears far away at times.
The nightly time we spend together grows more familiar and easy and comfortable. At night, after reading Lotte to sleep, I’d have a mug of tea with Holden. Then I would retreat to my room and read for a while. Holden gave me a book on plants and how to identify them. I teach Lotte what is edible and what’s not. It’s nice to feel so needed. Teaching Lotte is easy. She is curious by nature. Beyond working on her reading, in the afternoons, we work on math and writing. While we explore the woods, I teach her what I know about animals and plants and survival. She loves that I was a Girl Scout when I was her age and seems to devour anything I share with her. At bedtime, she gloms onto me. Snuggling against my side. Toying with my necklace as I read to her.
There are chickens in the yard. Foxes and fisher cats and wild pigs and bears meander through the woods around us. Holden always keeps a gun near, just in case. He said just last month a fox got a couple of their chickens.
Owls hoot in the early dawn. It’s eerie and wakes me sometimes. We eat eggs, milk, rice, beans; Lotte and I pick fresh veggies and Holden deals with all the game meat. He is a great cook. A great survivalist.
“Holden?” I call out from the porch. It’s silent a beat and then I hear the sound of his boots coming.
“You called?” His grin is infectious and I can’t help but smile in return.
“I did. I can’t find any shampoo.”
“You checked under the kitchen sink?” he scratches his head.
I nod. “Guess it’s time to make a trip into town. It’s too late to go today. Lotte doesn’t like being alone after dark. Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I answer. Lotte will have to take me to the creek again so I can bathe and wash my hair. The baby wipes aren’t really cutting it anymore. My scalp hurts from having my hair tied up in a ponytail for fourteen days. Holden wipes his hands on his jeans and brushes his ear against his shoulder.
“We should get dinner going.”
“I’ll let Lotte know,” I say. He watches me as I walk into my room. I can feel his eyes on me. My cheeks flush as I wonder if he likes what he sees.
I flop on my bed, indulging in the few moments I have to relax before the dinner rush begins. Out of habit, I reach out for my parents picture. My hand slaps around on the nightstand hitting nothing. I sit up. The picture is gone. I pull the table away from the wall and check the floor around it. I search through my stack of books. Under the bed. Panic sets in.
I storm from my room into the cabin.
“Have you seen the photo from my nightstand?” I ask. Holden stiffens and Lotte’s eye bulge but she stays still as a board.
“Lotte, if you took it, it’s okay. I don’t mind you looking at my things but you can’t take them.”
“I didn’t,” she says. Her eyes dart to Holden, then me. Back and forth.
I swing my gaze to Holden. “Holden?”
He pulls his head backward in an offended motion. “Why would I take a picture? It probably just fell off the table.”
“I checked the floor and under the bed. It’s gone.” Tears well in my eyes.
“It’s just a picture, Nora,” he says.
“It’s one of the only ones I have of my parents.” I feel like a little girl, petulant and ridiculous under the weight of Holden’s domineering expression. Holden reaches out for me. Some flicker of intuition tells me that I am not ready to feel his touch and I shy away. Cross my arms over my chest.
His eyes turn stormy. He spins to face Lotte. “Give it back,” he demands. She shakes under the weight of his stare. “Did you hear? Give it back, Lotte.” Tears well in her eyes and I feel the need to protect her.
“Stop it, Holden. You’re scaring her.”
“Excuse me?” he says, swinging his eyes to mine.
“Lotte, would you help me look for it again?” She nods rapidly and walks to my side. “Is that okay, Holden?”
He grunts something about preparing dinner in a few minutes but nods. Lotte and I walk briskly to my room.
I kneel on the floor and take her shoulders in my hands. “Please, if you have it, just tell me,” I whisper. She bites her bottom lip and looks genuinely upset.
&
nbsp; “I didn’t take it. Things go missing around here. Holden says it happens.”
I try to make sense of her explanation. “Lotte. You know lying is wrong, don’t you?”
“I’m not lying,” she hisses. “Things go missing here. Just . . . just ignore it. You have to look around.”
“To find it?”
“No, right now,” she whispers. “If we don’t look, he will think we lied to him.”
I stare at her and shake my head. I feel like she suddenly isn’t speaking English anymore. She unstacks my books, then sweeps her hand under the bed and restacks them. She looks under the dresser and under the other side of the bed as well. All while I stand dumbfounded, watching her.
“It’s not here.”
“I know,” I say.
“It’s time to make dinner.”
Still standing in my room, I watch Lotte walk out of my room.
What just happened?
Eve
Nora pauses, and I notice my heart is racing. I have been watching closely as she speaks. A tear escapes from the corner of Nora’s eye, but she ignores it.
“You can take a break, if you need to.” Nora nods. “I-I think I could use some water.”
Salve goes to fetch her water. Agent Brown continues jotting down notes and I stare at Nora. She looks everywhere but me. There are so many things I want to ask her but my mouth remains closed. There is something different about her. I didn’t know her before, of course, but I do know Holden’s ability to attempt to brainwash and it seems as if he was successful with her.
“Lotte and I had become very close. She followed me everywhere most of the time, as if she couldn’t bear to be far away from me. She even followed me to the outhouse sometimes, chatting about random things.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Yes, she’s a loving kid.” Charlotte’s wide smile flashes in my mind. She’s been gone so long, I am afraid when we find her she will be like Nora, detached and unable to see the evil in Holden.
She cocks her head at me. It’s unnerving. Like she’s trying to pick me apart. “Why would he pick you?” Her tone is curious.
The hairs on my arms stand up. “What?” I ask.
“Holden. Why would he pick you?”
I scoff at her outrageous question. “Who knows? Maybe because he’s a psychopath?”
“Girls,” Agent Brown snaps. Salve swings the door open and pauses when the tension in the room hits him. Cautiously, he sets a glass of water in front of Nora. I grit my teeth and keep silent.
“Continue,” Agent Brown says.
Nora nods.
Nora
The kerosene lamp light casts a soft glow over my room. I pull out my notebook and a pen.
Dear Aub,
There is an outhouse.
Did you read that? I’m dead serious. I have been using an outhouse for the last two weeks. I mean, I knew there wasn’t running water but I guess I just didn’t take the time to put two and two together, that there wouldn’t be a bathroom inside the cabin. Holden said we’d run into town tomorrow, so I figured it was time to write you a letter.
Where to start? I’ll dive into the facts first. There is a well with a hand pump on it. That’s where the water comes from. Thank God you suggested I bring that pack of baby wipes, otherwise I would be pungent right now. Surprisingly, being without technology is not the worst thing to ever happen to me. I think the lack of running water is the hardest thing to get used to. You can’t just fill a glass of water at the sink or rinse a dish when you’re done with it. It’s strange. The lack of electricity is less tough to adjust to because he has a plethora of kerosene lamps in the cabin. Oh yes, that’s right . . . it’s a cabin. It’s hot during the day, and cold at night and more so in my room because it’s not actually a room- I suspect it was a woodshed at one point that he converted to a bedroom.
Lotte is adorable. She dresses like a character from Little House on the Prairie. I might suggest to Holden that he grab her some new clothes. And sometimes I wonder about her and Holden’s relationship. He’s strict and domineering to her but so incredibly sweet to me. He barely lets me help out at all. Sometimes I watch him. He’s so handsome and otherworldly. Almost like he wouldn’t survive in the real world because he’s made for this place he calls home. Let me tell you, Aub, it is stunning here. The mountains look beautiful, like a postcard, and I am in love. Gorgeous. Exquisite. It’s so peaceful. The only sounds are that of nature or the three of us. From the top of a nearby gorge, you can see for miles. I really think you would love it.
I’m sure you are reading between the lines of this letter, so I won’t keep you in suspense. Yes, Holden is good looking. Yes, he is sometimes flirty. No, nothing has happened . . . but I do catch myself thinking about him often. So, maybe I have developed a little crush. But you know me. I will keep it strictly professional because I’m an inexperienced nerd.
You better not be throwing parties at my house every night. Please remember to water my plants.
Miss you.
Xoxo
Nora
P.S. I hope you noted the lack of large words in this letter :)
I fold the letter up and for safe measure, since I’m paranoid Holden will somehow be able to see the words, wrap another sheet of paper around it before putting it into one of the envelopes Angela sent with me in my notebook. I turn off the lantern and tuck myself in. Today, Holden had been at it again with the hammer. He’d mentioned he was building a proper guest house. I’d smiled and watched him from the front porch with a glass of iced tea. I close my eyes against the unprecedented desire to feel his beard. To run my fingers through his long hair. The longer I watched him, the more curious I became to know what those muscles on his arms would feel like under my fingers. I adjust my blankets and roll on my side. I fall asleep thinking about Holden’s full lips and defined muscles.
The drive to town is slow and long but Holden sings along to the radio. His voice is baritone and manly. I try not to stare at him, so instead I stare out the truck window at the passing scenery. He hits a bump in the dirt road a little too fast and I fly upward and knock my head on the ceiling of the cab. His hand is instantly on my thigh. My bare thigh. His palm pushes down, fingers spread wide. His hand is so big. Rough against my skin. My eyes fly to him. He looks straight ahead. Keeps one hand on the steering wheel. “Sorry, that was a rough spot.”
I titter out a laugh as if it were nothing, while secretly wishing he’d speed up a little and repeat the hand on thigh gesture. It was sweet. A considerate gesture of protection and it didn’t freak me out. I’ve had a lot of time to repress the memory of Anton and the night of the party and I feel like Holden is a gentleman. He’s definitely forward, but in a genuine way. I don’t feel as though he’s hiding any wayward intentions.
By the time we arrive in Pocketville, it’s almost noon. Holden runs me to the post office so I can mail my letter.
“That’s 42 cents,” the clerk says. I hand over two quarters with a shy smile. The clerk takes the money and reaches for the letter but I slap my hand down on it.
“Oh! Wait. Holden, I need to put a return address on it.” Holden grins and tells me the P.O. Box number and zip code. He grabs his mail from his box before we leave.
“Hey, have you considered getting Lotte some . . . new clothes?” I ask, as we wander down the sidewalk of the small main street together.
“She’s got plenty,” he says.
“I was just thinking, they’re all a little dated. Maybe she’d like some leggings or pants. She seems to only have skirts.”
Holden stops and I halt my pace and turn to face him. His eyes drink me in and I feel my cheeks turn crimson. “I like the way Lotte dresses. It’s wholesome,” he finally says.
I nod and laugh, feeling slightly daring. “If she were in the eighteen hundreds.” Holden cocks his head and his eyes flash. “Sorry. I . . . I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “Let’s get you some shampoo.
I need to pick up a few other things, too, before we head back. Lotte shouldn’t be left alone for too long.”
“Why don’t you bring her with you?” I ask, as he and I walk hand in hand into a small supermarket.
He drops my hand and I’m almost sad about it. I liked the way my hand felt in his. “Because townies talk and I hate talk.”
As I follow him down an aisle, I mutter, “Me, too.” And I do. I was always too busy entertaining myself to need to talk a lot. Maybe that’s why I’ve acclimated so well to Holden’s farm. Outside of Lotte chattering away during our explorations, it’s quiet and I’m comfortable with quiet. Holden lifts a strand of my hair and rubs it between his fingers. It’s an odd thing to do but I don’t question it. He looks over the shelves before us until he picks up one bottle of shampoo.
“This one,” he says and I find myself embarrassed. I anticipated picking out my own shampoo and it unnerves me that he’s gone and done it for me. I take the bottle from him and utter a thank you. Holden doesn’t say another word. When we check out, I grab a few bags of M&M’s for Lotte and a travel sized first aid kit. I’d noticed they didn’t have much to treat blisters and little scrapes at the cabin. Holden paid for my shampoo, said it was his pleasure to treat me. While he drives to the feed store, I examine the bottle. Strawberry scented. I don’t like scented shampoo.
He stabs the shovel into the bagged grain and twitches it, sending grain flying at me. I laugh and duck. The sales clerk hollers for him to watch it. While he’s distracted, I grab a handful and dart around him. Pulling the back of his shirt away from his neck, I release the grain. Holden bellows and spins around. “You’ll pay for that one, Nora.”
I turn and run for the truck, laughing the whole way. After he pays and loads the back of the truck, he hops in, all smiles. “I should make you clean me off. That should be your punishment for dumping that down my shirt.”