by Lin Stepp
She sighed in pleasure as she looked around the cabin in the light of day. It was so different from Elliott’s or her parents’ apartments in New York. She noted, with interest, how she immediately thought of both those homes as belonging to someone other than herself just now.
“It’s how I feel,” she acknowledged to herself. “I never fit in those sleek, smooth, polished decors and I had no input in how either of those places were decorated either.”
Of course, the same was true here. Sam and Frances decorated this house. But the cabin felt more comfortable to Jenna, like a real home. Not everything was neat, fashionable, and color-coordinated, and there were bits of individual personality everywhere she looked.
She got a catch in her throat standing in the doorway of Sam’s big bedroom downstairs. It was so like him. A dark green spread lay on the bed, much like his spread in New York, with a bear-print blanket draped over the bed rail. The rest of the room echoed Sam’s passion for Smoky Mountain black bears – with bear accessories scattered about and photos and paintings of bears on the walls.
The living room sofas were a worn plaid of deep green, maroon, and tan. The two sofas faced each other across a wide, square, rustic coffee table. This was the table Boyce propped his feet on comfortably the night before. Two solid armchairs flanked the other end of the table, across from a huge rock fireplace. From any seat you could see and enjoy the fire. Magazines and books lay scattered over the coffee and end tables – with more piled in a basket near by. It was a friendly, comfortable room.
Jenna let herself out the back door of the kitchen to find a covered porch much like the one on the front of the house. From the back porch, Jenna could hear the babbling sounds of Fall Branch Creek beyond the trees. She promised herself she would explore the creek later on when the day warmed up.
For now, she contented herself to climb back upstairs to finish her unpacking. She loved the upstairs bedroom Sam suggested she’d like best. Funny how Sam knew her so well and he wasn’t even her family. The floral designs around the bedroom made her happy just to be among them.
Jenna found herself smiling and forgetting her problems, for once, as she put her things away in the drawers and closets and made herself at home. She carried her laptop computer, printer, and boxes of art supplies over to Sam’s study, the other upstairs room she discovered last night. In this room was a big desk that Jenna could work on.
She had stopped by Park Press before she left to assure them she would keep up her commitment for greeting cards while she was away.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to continue doing at least the twenty-four card designs a month that are in my contract,” she told Jason Bentley, her division manager. “I might be able to do more if you need me to.”
She bit her lip nervously. “I’ll be making my own way now.” Jenna reluctantly told Jason about her personal situation with Elliott and explained why she was leaving the city.
Jason listened, nodding. “Well, good riddance to bad rubbish,” he remarked. “I’ve always thought Elliott was a jerk and I hope you decide to make a clean break from him. You’ll get only support from me.”
He smiled at Jenna. “I’d be happy for you to branch out and begin creating some other designs for the company if you want – stationery, calendars, recipe cards.” He pulled out a folder from his desk file. “Here’s some literature you can study about our other lines.”
Jenna remembered Jason’s kind words as her eyes scanned the big office at Sam’s in pleasure. It would be nice to have this large, sunny area to work in and not to have to hide her work away as she did at Elliott’s. She knew Elliott thought her whimsical card designs were silly. And he was never interested in seeing any of her work. He delighted in telling her it wasn’t the type of art fine artists produced. But it did sell, and she took her own small pleasures in creating it.
She thought of Sam with fondness as she assembled her supplies on his large desk. He always encouraged her art work.
“How did you get started working for Park Press?” he asked her once.
She propped her chin on one hand remembering her answer. “I did a set of greeting cards for an art class assignment in high school,” she told Sam. “My teacher entered them in a contest sponsored by Park Press. I won first place and one of my designs got published as a real greeting card. Jason Bentley from Park Press came to visit my parents at our home. He encouraged me to go to college in illustration and told my parents what talent he thought I had.”
Jenna frowned, remembering the rest. “But of course, Mother and Daddy insisted I go to Barnard and major in Art History instead of going to a school for illustration.”
She hadn’t told Sam the words her mother said but she still recalled those, too. “You can’t keep playing about and diddling with greeting card designs now that you’re grown, Jenna. You need to prepare for your life as a member of New York society, for your future role as a wife to a professional executive.” She flipped the pages of a fashion magazine while she talked. “It is unlikely you will work once you marry and with a degree in Art History you can work with the committees and boards of the galleries here in New York. Even the wealthiest women work as volunteers with the galleries.”
Her own desires put aside as usual, Jenna dutifully majored in Art History. As a further disappointment, her art teachers at Barnard never viewed her art work as valuable, either. In the few studio classes she took, her professors urged her to paint boldly in surrealistic and modern designs and to avoid painting quaint, detailed works they called “cutsey art.”
“It’s a wonder I got into my work with Park Press at all,” she told Sam.
“How did that happen?” he asked.
Jenna smiled at the memory. “Well, one day when I was volunteering in one of the galleries, Jason Bentley came in. He remembered me and asked what I was doing with my art talent. He convinced me to come down to Park Press to talk with him about doing some freelance work, and that’s when I started doing my card designs.”
Jenna got up to walk over to the window now, remembering with agitation how she and Elliott quarreled over this when they married.
“You don’t need to work now that you’re married. I provide well for you.” He had paced the apartment with irritation while he talked. “And I don’t want your art stuff scattered all over the apartment. I paid a fortune to have this place decorated by one of New York’s top designers.”
She wept and pleaded and he finally gave in to her and created a little desk area where she could do her designs in a storage closet in their apartment.
“Keep the door shut when you’re not working,” he told her. “And I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone what you do, either.” Elliott rolled his eyes. “Since your work is rather trite and embarrassing.”
However, sometimes Elliott did tell people what she did when they were entertaining or out at a party. On those occasions, he usually made fun of her for “her little hobby” - providing everyone with a good laugh at her expense. Jenna hated those times.
She sighed over all the painful memories.
“Never mind all that,” she told herself, returning to set up her work area.
The birds outside the kitchen window had already given Jenna some new ideas for her cards, but she decided to wait to work on her designs until later. She needed to get to the grocery store for more supplies for the cabin. Zita and Raynelle had left some food, and cleaned the cabin nicely, but Jenna was eager to get fully settled in.
She knew Townsend had a small market for milk and grocery pickups, but big grocery shopping had to be done in Maryville. Fortunately, Jenna noticed a big Food City grocery outside of Maryville coming in to Townsend, so she drove back there to load up on all the items she needed. By midday she’d finished unloading her car with Patrick’s help. The dog had come bounding over from Boyce’s porch when he saw her drive up from the grocery.
In the daylight, Jenna could see Boyce’s home tucked back in the trees across the road fro
m Sam’s cabin. It was a rustic mountain cabin, also, but the house appeared much larger. The exterior was a mix of stone and logs, its porch angling around two sides of the house. A big rock chimney rose up above the roof and the gables, and a flagstone walk wandered in a pretty curve from the drive back to the front steps. It seemed a nice place, and a big double garage sat behind it with what looked like an apartment over the top.
Patrick seemed so much at home at Sam’s place that Jenna didn’t have the heart not to let him in the house with her. She petted his head fondly. “My guess is that you lived here with Boyce during the years when he was building his own house across the street. You seem awfully comfortable here.”
She smiled at him. “You’re a very good dog, too, Patrick – very well-behaved and very intelligent.” He wagged his tail.
Patrick raced ahead of Jenna down the woods path when Jenna went to explore the creek behind the house after lunch. He obviously knew the way and waded immediately into the water to sniff out some rocks.
Jenna felt enchanted with the creek. It came tumbling downhill from the mountainside above, rioting around big, smooth rocks and cascading over others in rushing falls. Jenna soon found the rock patio Sam said he and Frances built beside the water. A bench, a rough grill, and an old picnic table stood on the patio. A little trail seemed to wind its way up the side of the creek on the opposite bank, and Jenna promised herself that one day soon she would explore and follow it.
The March day seemed mild compared to what Jenna was used to in New York and she only needed a sweater over her shirt and slacks. She whistled to Patrick. “Let’s go walk down Orchard Hollow Road for some more exercise. Sam said it was only three miles to the end of the road.”
Patrick led the way happily as Jenna started through the yard toward the street. The road sloped downhill, twining in and out of a pretty open woods, with Fall Branch Creek never far away on the left.
There were no houses along the road until Jenna had walked about two miles. Then she passed the Hester’s white country cottage on the left and the Lansky’s two-story log cabin on the right. Along the roadside now, she saw purple and yellow crocuses and early daffodils in bloom and noticed that the dogwood and redbud trees were getting ready to bloom in the woods. Spring came earlier here than in New York.
At the road’s end, Jenna found the marker she’d seen the night before -with the names of each of the families on Orchard Hollow Road tacked to a post. She smiled fondly, remembering how many times Sam had described this marker to her.
Across the road by the McNally’s fence line stood another rustic, art creation - a colorful group of weathered birdhouses crowded together on the top of a chopped off tree trunk. Each faded birdhouse was unique - one blue, another red, one painted like a church with a steeple on the top. Jenna was enchanted with it. She wished she’d brought her sketchbook. This would make a great design for a greeting card. In fact, she had gotten several new ideas on her walk.
Jenna and Patrick were part way up the hill walking back, when a jeep pulled alongside them and slowed down. It was Boyce.
“Wanna ride?” he said. “It’s more of a hike going up than walking down.”
She accepted the offer, especially at Patrick’s whining insistence.
“How far did you walk?” Boyce asked, after they both climbed into the jeep.
“To the creek behind Sam’s and then down to the end of the road here.”
He whistled appreciatively and grinned at her. “That’s about five miles in all. Pretty good for a city girl.”
She frowned at him. “I’m used to walking or jogging every day. My friend Carla and I always went to the park - unless the weather was simply awful.” She considered this and scowled. “Unfortunately, that’s often the case in New York, even at this time of year. I simply can’t believe flowers are already blooming down here, that the leaves of the trees are all out, and that the dogwood and redbud trees are budding.”
Boyce changed gears as he headed up the hill.
“And look at that!” She gestured with enthusiasm at the hillside. “At those trees there. Their leaves are that yellow green Sam said he only saw in Tennessee in the early spring.”
Boyce smiled. “The green that is so hard to capture in paint.”
“Sam said that, too.” She turned her eyes to his. “It really is so beautiful here, Boyce. Like a fairyland. I almost forgot my troubles today.”
Boyce didn’t comment on that, but instead slowed to point out some other highlights along the way.
“I see you got your jeep fixed,” she said.
“Yep.” Boyce pulled into his own driveway now instead of Sam’s as they came to the end of the loop road.
He turned to her. “Do you want me to come over to build up the fire for you before it gets dark?” He smiled. “I can show you what to do so you’ll know how to handle it on your own another time.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that. I love to sit in front of the fire and watch it after it gets dark outside. It’s comforting somehow.”
“Nothing like a good fire,” Boyce remarked, before he went around the house to get more firewood.
Later when he was getting the fire going, Jenna said, “There’s still a lot more casserole, beans, and corn if you want to help me finish it up tonight. And I found an apple pie in the back of the refrigerator that I didn’t see last night, too.”
Boyce grinned boyishly at her. “You can always twist my arm easily to get me to eat home-cooked food. It’s a weakness of mine. Do you cook up in New York City or do you eat out all the time there?”
“I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent cook.” Jenna planted both hands on her hips. “You just ask Sam. I cook for him all the time. And he loves my food.”
Boyce chuckled. “Whoa, woman. I never suggested you couldn’t cook; so don’t get prickly on me. I just asked if you did, that’s all. And with you living across the street it’s nice to learn that you do cook. You can share some of that excellent home cooking with me now and again, and I will invite you over for my famous homemade chili and maybe even for my Grandma Edith’s recipe for beef stew. I’m a fine cook myself for things that fit in one pot and get all cooked up together. You can ask anybody.”
Jenna had the grace to laugh.
Dark was falling, and they talked about cooking and mundane things while Jenna heated up their dinner and put it on the table. Boyce pitched in and set the table this time, opened a jar of Zita’s homemade pickles, sliced up a tomato, and made coffee. Jenna tried to act like it was an everyday thing for her to have a man working alongside her in the kitchen, even when it wasn’t. She had never seen Elliott or her father in a kitchen except to get a snack or mix a drink before dinner.
“Did you stop by the gallery today?” Jenna asked, after she and Boyce had settled down at the table to eat.
“Yeah, and Una’s got things under control there.” He spooned out casserole onto his plate. “Una’s an art student at the college in Maryville. She’s been working for me since high school. You’ll meet her eventually. Real arty, hippie type. Long braid down her back, peasant clothes, sandals. Does great jewelry and weaves. She sells some of her jewelry at the crafts shops. Not much of a painter, though, but she tries. She’s been doing some contemporary scenes of people that show some promise lately. Long bodies, interesting clothes and hats - sort of impressionistic. I’ve encouraged her with those. They don’t fit into the theme of the Hart Gallery, but I think she might get another gallery or shop in town to look at them.”
“It’s hard to get into the art field.” Jenna frowned. “I remember the stories I used to hear in New York about artists who struggled for years before they received any recognition. You’re young to be so successful already. How did that happen?”
Boyce shrugged. “I figure Sam has told you that.”
“Not really,” Jenna answered. “He just always bragged about your art and your talent. He told me he and Frances liked you even when you were a bo
y, so I assume he’s known you and your family for a long time. Sam calls you a local boy that made good.”
“Well, that’s about the size of it,” Boyce said.
Jenna waited a little for Boyce to go on.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” She gave him an irritated look.
“What do you want to know?” He looked surprised.
She leaned forward. “About your life. About how you started painting. About how you became recognized. You know, things like that.” She offered him a soft smile.
Boyce studied her face. “Why?” he asked her.
Jenna looked down shyly at her hands, not meeting his eyes now. “I guess because I like you,” she said quietly. “Because I’d like to know you better. But only if that’s all right,” she added, looking up at him questioningly.
Chapter 6
Boyce looked across the table at her. She was sitting there in a soft, pink blouse, her face flushed and uncertain, looking more beautiful than any woman had a right to, and asking him if it was all right that she was interested in him. Lord, have mercy. And she said she liked him, too.
How in the world was he going to deal with this situation when she was a married woman? Boyce knew from Sam that Jenna had experienced trouble with her husband. That’s why she came here, to take a space to think about it and decide what she wanted to do. But the woman was still married. Boyce held strong moral beliefs about that sort of thing. The woman wasn’t available. Furthermore, she was vulnerable right now. She’d been hurt. And Boyce wasn’t the kind of man to contribute further to a situation like that. He would have to tread very carefully in this.
“Well, I tell you what, Miss Jenna,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you a bit about my life, if you’ll tell me some about yours. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
She seemed to consider this. “I guess that would be all right,” she said.
He winked at her. “So let’s clean up here, and then we’ll take our coffee and pie over by the fire and swap tales.” Boyce scraped the plates and loaded the dishwasher while she put the food away.