by J. L. Salter
“What?”
She pointed vigorously. “You!”
Chapter Five
The woman with no name monitored Wilder’s rugged face, quite handsome beneath about three weeks of coal black whiskers, for any reaction. None. “Yes, I think I remember your face, Cody ...from somewhere.”
Wilder grinned as he shook off the notion. Then he took a final large forkful of scrambled eggs. “Not very likely,” he said, still chewing. “I doubt we run in the same circles. Besides, I don’t think our circles are even in the same part of the country.”
“Well, maybe with a slightly longer beard before. Besides, it’s not a vivid photographic scene,” though she closed her eyes to retrieve it if possible. “It’s more like a déjà vu sort of thing.”
“Keep working on that scene and let me know where we supposedly met.” He eyed her intently. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”
Blood rushed to her face. “Dare I ask why?”
Sly smile. “I have an eye for beauty. Up here on the mountainside, it’s the beauty of nature. But down on the streets of the towns and cities, the beauty dresses nicely and shaves its legs.”
The temperature inside had risen slightly—she felt a need to shift the subject. “Your cabin seems pretty sturdy. I don’t see any leaks.” The storm still raged outside.
He seemed like he’d rather continue discussing legs. “My grandparents built it. This replaced a smaller one that burned down. I still use its old root cellar—actually a bit of a cave—to keep certain foods fresh and cool during summers.” He pointed behind them to the east. “This basic structure was still intact when I got here, but I had to redo some of the chinking and repair quite a few shingles.”
She collected both plates and forks and took them to the sink. “I’ve already met one of your chickens, your cold well water at the sink, and that, um, other facility. How do you manage the rest of your off-grid needs?”
“Don’t actually use a lot of power,” said Wilder as he shoved back his chair and stretched out his long legs. I’ve already mentioned the power I draw from wind and solar. Beyond that, I have kerosene lanterns, battery-powered lanterns and flashlights, plus candles, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And I have a gasoline generator in the barn for any emergency needs.”
She struggled to comprehend the minimalist nature of his needs. “So, basically you don’t have very many things that would even use the grid.”
He nodded. “When you downsize and truly simplify your operation, you realize you only need power for things like the lights and ceiling fan...plus a small fridge and freezer, to keep your food supply stable during summer.”
“Well, I sure hope you have a power source for hot water for that shower you haven’t shown me yet.”
“Definitely. Can’t stand cold showers.”
“That’s a relief. So where is it?”
“Right next to the chemical toilet.” He pointed. “You’ve passed by it probably a dozen times already.”
After stepping that direction, she peeled back the curtain and peered inside. “Oh, I thought that was a place for mops and brooms.” Then she made some mental calculations of his shoulder width. “You can actually fit inside that thing?”
He laced his fingers together atop his massive chest. “It might be a little TMI for you, but let’s just say I don’t give that shower too much of a workout.”
“You mean not every day.”
He grinned self-consciously.
“Don’t tell me you only shower on Saturdays.”
“Like I said, TMI.”
“Good grief. What sort of cave man have I stumbled across?”
Wilder just shrugged.
“Sorry. That came out wrong.”
“I’m not offended. Frequent bathing is a relatively modern notion and even today in many cultures, it’s not all that common. It’s never mattered much to Maggie or Beethoven.”
Hearing his name, the rooster flapped his wings and crowed, “Er er er errhhh.”
“I thought your rooster’s girlfriend was Bessie.”
“We lost Bessie. From the few feathers I located, I’m guessing a coyote got her.”
“Ugh. So who’s Maggie?”
He looked away quickly. “Never mind.”
Oops. “Sorry.”
Wilder shook his head slowly. “Anyhow, when you live alone and don’t see very many people, you’re not constantly fretting about things like deodorant and cologne.”
“Uh, I suppose that makes sense. I mean, it fits with the rest of the eco-friendly system you’ve got working up here.”
“But you don’t approve…”
“Look, it’s just a bit new to me, all this off-grid stuff. I don’t remember much about my life, but I’m pretty certain everything I do and have is right in the middle of that grid you don’t use. So to encounter somebody who survives with the power from one windmill and a few solar panels...it’s, it’s…”
“Too primitive?” he asked.
“No, that wasn’t my image. It reminds me of the pioneer folks—all about self-reliance and spitting in the face of hardships.”
“Sounds rather lyrical.”
She eyed him carefully. “What do you mean?”
“Just that you’re able to express yourself well. Maybe you’re a teacher.”
“Teacher?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, don’t think I teach. At least not kids.”
“You seem pretty sure.”
“Another of those gut things. I believe I know some teachers, and they possess fortitude that I’m pretty sure I don’t have.”
“That’s a lot to remember, lady, when you say you can’t recall much of anything.”
“It’s more like a general awareness than a specific memory. I think there’s a difference.”
“Maybe so.” He got up slowly and looked through a window. “Wish it would stop raining so I could get some stuff done.”
“What kind of work do you do up here?”
“Keep the place running, fix things, cut and split wood for fuel. Fiddle with my designs for the new cabin.” He pointed toward a small drafting board tucked into a corner. “I work a little garden in season and the wild animals let me keep enough produce to live on.”
“That’s it?”
“I build the things I need, like this furniture. And if I have time and material, I sometimes make extra pieces and take them down to Boar Mount.”
“What’s that?”
“The little town at the western foot of Hardscrabble.” He waited to see if she had any more questions. “They sell on consignment at the hardware store. Tourists buy stuff like that.”
“Does Boar Mount have lots of tourists?”
He smiled. “No, not really. Though I’ve heard a few city people who’ve found this town seem to like it enough to come back.”
She mulled that over. “So what else do you do indoors?”
“Read, mainly.” He pointed to the south wall, which was mostly covered with shelves.
“I noticed your sizeable book collection, but haven’t had a chance to examine it. What do you have?”
“Mostly history and biography. Several novels.”
“Literary or popular?”
“Both. After my military hitch, I finished college and started out teaching high school. Changed my mind after five years, but I still love books.”
“I believe I’m connected to books too,” she said with a nod. “Not sure how, though.”
“Maybe you’re a librarian.”
She pondered that for a moment. “Don’t think so, but that’s just my gut talking.”
“You know, it sure will be interesting when we finally find out who you are and all the rest. As things stand right now, you could be anything from a bank examiner to an astronaut.”
“Hmm. Don’t think I’m all that great with math and my gut says I don’t like heights.”
“Whatever.” He stepped toward one of th
e front windows again and shook his head at the rain outside. “Oh, and I’ve been thinking about the little facility that worries you. I have another curtain I can rig up to give you a bit of privacy.”
“Thanks, Cody, that would be lovely.” She scraped some fragments from the bar of soap into a shallow pan and filled it with water from the sink tap.
“What are you doing?”
“Thought I’d wash the breakfast dishes.”
“I just rinse them real good.”
“So I noticed,” she said while selecting a washrag from the drawer. “But a little soap and rubbing never hurt a dish.”
“Is that something else you’ve just remembered?”
“No, this is a gut instinct from twenty years of living with my mother.”
“Yet another clear memory.”
Maybe so. She gazed downward, a plate in mid-scrub. “But still almost nothing from yesterday.”
Wilder pulled a larger towel from the drawer and waited.
“Oh, sorry. Got distracted.” She finished washing that plate, then rinsed it and handed it to her host. He dried it like he’d been working in a café for years, and placed it in the dish rack. As she finished the washing, she smiled softly.
“Recalling something else?”
“Not really a memory. Just a nice feeling.”
“About what?”
“Two people washing and drying dishes.” She rolled her eyes. “I know, it’s corny, but it’s also kind of…”
“Intimate?”
She blushed. “I don’t believe that was…”
“I read that somewhere.” He hurriedly explained. “Supposedly one of the most intimate things a man can do for his woman is help with household chores.”
“Hmm. You may want to check that source again, Cody, but I think I understand what they’re talking about. It’s sexy when a guy rolls up his sleeves and gets wet.” Then she covered her face with her own soaked hands. “Did I really say that?”
He chuckled deeply. “Maybe you read the same article I did.”
“This is totally embarrassing.”
“Here, you’d better dry off your face.” He extended the towel.
“With no mirrors in this place, I’m flying pretty blind.” She dropped her hands.
“Okay, allow me.” He examined her moist face, and then carefully dabbed the dampened dishtowel on each cheek and down the front of her neck. He stopped just below her collarbone. “I think you’d better deal with those trickles down your, uh…” He pointed.
Her face warmed again as she accepted the towel from his hands. Turning away, she blotted the rest of the dishwater down her front. Then, facing him, she said. “I really should get my own clothes back on. I don’t believe I’m used to running around rustic cabins with my, um, torso this exposed.”
Wilder grinned, stepped back a few feet, and pointed near the stove. “They should be dry by now.”
She reached for them and noticed all the large tears had been mended. “Did you do this?”
He nodded.
“When?”
“While you were sleeping,” he said, trying to appear modest. “Why so surprised?”
“I’ve just never before met a man who could sew.” Then she reconsidered. “Well, I mean I don’t remember any.”
“It’s nothing fancy. Just a standard stitch.” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t think you’d want to arrive back in town with your clothes in tatters.”
She held up a pants leg. “Uh, how’d you stitch up cloth that was still wet?”
“Made it easier, actually.” He pointed vaguely to the table. “Didn’t move around as much.”
Of course, it also meant those rough-stitched seams might still be damp. “Well, thanks...um, for mending them.”
“No problem.”
She looked around the interior. “Normally, in small quarters like this, I’d step into your closet to change, but I see your closet has no door.”
“I gather that’s a hint for me to find something to do on the porch.”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
He shrugged and snapped his fingers to get the rooster’s attention. Then Wilder grabbed his jacket from the easy chair. “Don’t take too long...it’s cold outside.”
“I’m not dressing for the Palace Ball,” she smiled. “Just give me two minutes.”
Beethoven followed him like an expectant puppy.
After Wilder and his pet exited and closed the door, the nameless woman stood in the open doorway of his closet and hurriedly pulled off the suspenders to remove the oversized flannel shirt. Without the aid of those straps, the loose cargo shorts fell to the cold floor. She stepped out of those and quickly pulled on her dry, but stiff, jeans from the previous night’s dark experiences. Badly torn in several spots yet now mended with a neat but unimaginative widely-spaced stitch, the clothing was presentable, but she hoped nobody got close enough to see all the puckered seams. “He sews like a man,” she said to herself, unclear how she recalled that impression. Still don’t know how I got here or what happened. Her slightly damp encapsulation-type sports bra felt like ice. A brassière with underwire would certainly look nicer. Pulling on her blouse, she noticed several small rips...most likely from briars or sharp branches. Scattered traces of blood—probably from the cuts. Only one large tear, also stitched with a puckered seam. Finished with her own buttoning, she folded Wilder’s shorts and shirt and placed them on the foot of his bed. Suspenders on top.
Eying the front door, she eased over to Wilder’s dresser to find the hand mirror he’d mentioned. The dresser’s top was so high she had to perch on her toes to see its surface. The ornate mirror was decidedly un-masculine...almost frilly. Certainly a woman’s—probably belonged to that Maggie person Wilder had mentioned. No doubt Maggie was his ex-wife or ex-girlfriend, who realized she needed the grid more than she wanted to live with a rustic mountain man.
After a split second with eyes closed, wondering what she’d look like, the woman with no name opened her eyes and stared into the mirror. “Yikes.”
“What’s wrong?” resonated Wilder’s deep voice from the front door—slammed shut as quickly as it had been yanked open. The rooster barely made it inside with tail feathers intact.
“My hair! It’s...it’s…”
“I couldn’t do anything with that. Too much mud interspersed and it was all I could do to wash your face and get your wet clothes off.”
“Ugh. I’ve got to jump into this shower of yours.” She pointed to the minimalist stall, roughly the size found in small recreational vehicles.
He stroked his hairy chin. “Let’s wait and see how long you’re going to be here. If the rain stops and you leave this afternoon...might better wait on the shower.”
She wondered why but did not inquire, because she’d just remembered a different and much more pressing question. “Cody, last night when I was passed out, soaked and muddy...why’d you decide to leave on my, um, panties?” She blushed as she ended the question.
He tossed his jacket on the back of his easy chair and headed toward the stove for more coffee. His rooster waddled close behind. Gazing thoughtfully at his mug, Wilder replied without looking her direction. “I thought about it, since they were as soaked as the rest of your clothes.” He poured a half mug. “But as disoriented as you were last night, it occurred to me you might wake up and be, let’s say...uneasy. If you also discovered you had no skivvies, you might have thought something else, um, happened. And I didn’t want you to wonder if I’d been the one who…”
Her eyes filled—a frequent occurrence in these few hours since she’d awakened in a strange bed in the isolated cabin of this reclusive mountain man. “Thank you.” She gulped. “I mean, thanks for thinking of that. I guess it would’ve been a considerable additional scare.” Then she added, “I’ll have to remember that for…”
“For what?”
She squinted. “Not sure. Just had a thought that sometimes I file away isolated facts,
faces, or feelings.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know.” She shook her head slowly.
“Maybe you’re a scientist.”
“Hmm. Possibly, but that doesn’t feel right.”
“In your gut, you mean.”
She nodded. “Somehow, I think a scientist would know deep down that she was scientific.”
Chapter Six
For the rest of that morning, distracted by the storm and their female company, Cody and Beethoven had gotten up about every half hour to check the storm through one of his two front windows. “I think it might clear up before nightfall.”
His temporary guest looked hopeful. “So maybe we can be down in town for supper.”
“Oh, no.” He smiled sadly. “Not that simple, even if the road is okay.”
“Why not? What’s the hold up?” She moved toward that window and tried to peer around his large frame. “Look, I’m really grateful for all your help but I want to get moving.”
“I realize that, lady, but the trip down this mountain takes hours.”
“Hours? Do you drive the whole way in first gear?”
Cody shook his head.
“So what kind of vehicle do you have?”
Even Beethoven noticed the increasing stress in their guest’s voice.
He smiled. “Quite mature and only one horsepower.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. That big bay dun out in the barn.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean you have no vehicle whatsoever?”
“There’s a gas-powered tiller, when I can get it working.”
When she was irritated, the woman’s blue eyes blazed. “But I don’t imagine that will ride us down the mountain.”
“Nope. And neither can my horse...not during a thunderstorm.”
With a frown, she asked, “Does the weather up here ever break?”
“Sure. When it’s ready.” He pointed over his shoulder. “And like I said, I think it might stop by nightfall.”
She groaned.
“Hey, I don’t sit here and watch the weather channel, but I can monitor the skies.” He touched her elbow and motioned through the nearer front window. “See over there?” He pointed to the distant west. “Way beyond those dark clouds, you can see the sunlight.”