by Ruth Wind
Instead, Mustapha had fallen into the habit of using money to influence people. And some elements, like the Freedom League, were not averse to manipulating the man for his money.
It gave Samuel no joy to contemplate opening the wounds of his brother's heart. But no one else would undertake this assignment with the commitment Samuel would bring to the task. And Mustapha, for all his flaws, was Samuel's blood. He wanted to see him live, to perhaps heal his life.
Samuel's dreams at night had been filled with visions of his brother, dead and bleeding. Other times it was Lila who was murdered instead. He awoke from these nightmares with a pounding heart and dry throat.
He had to protect both of them. It seemed a particularly unkind twist of fate that saving one meant leaving the other. And if he stayed here, warm with Lila, all of them would die.
The ring between his fingers suddenly slipped between the bars and came off. Samuel swore, for in his absorption, he'd not seen how it had come off, and that left him no closer to solving the puzzle than before.
On the beach Lila sifted through the sand at the edge of the lapping waves, intent on completing her makeshift chess set. In a bag were sixteen smooth shells, all pale tan with streaks of pink, together with four straight bits of rock for bishops, four knotty pieces of driftwood for knights and pinecones for the royalty of the court. All she lacked was something to use as castles. A length of red-and-white gingham would do for the board.
Rooks had been her favorite playing piece as a child. She liked the way they moved in straight, unwavering lines. There was no ambiguity about rooks, not like queens or the strapped and helpless kings, or knights with their dancing JL's.
A long shell caught her eye. It would do. As her fingers closed around it, the first drop of rain splashed against her cheek. Looking up in surprise, she saw the heavy clouds that had hidden the sky, saw the storm moving across the water in fuzzy gray fury. "Damn," she said, and jumped up.
The movement caused a twinge in her lower back, a warning that had been sounding now for two days. She was doing too much, and when she rested, it wasn't the kind of deep relaxation her back required. Instead, she awakened with tired arms and legs and neck, as if she had run hard in her sleep.
She ignored the twinge and rounded a pile of rocks, kicking sand around with her toe, heedless of the sprinklings of rain on her hair. A second, similar shell lay at the edge of the waves, and she grabbed it, dropping it into the bag victoriously.
Arrow trotted over, sniffling at a bulbous tangle of seaweed, then, finding nothing edible, picked up a finger of driftwood and dropped it at her feet. "Sorry, baby," she said without looking at him. "I don't have time."
Unconcerned, he snuffled away, rewarded a few feet down the shore by something tasty in a hollow of sand. Lila spared him a single, amused glance. Too bad humans were not as easily distracted as dogs, she thought ruefully.
Rain began to fall more quickly, making a pattering noise on the rocks, and Lila redoubled her efforts. A third, suitable shell tumbled from a stack of pebbles, and she snatched it up, blinking rain from her eyes. Her hair was more than a little damp by now, and the curls dripped around her face and shoulders. "Damn," she said again, tossing the offending locks out of her eyes.
One more shell. One more. She jumped up and started digging with her toes through a promising stack of flotsam washed ashore. Right near the top was the last shell, and Lila grabbed it, whistling for Arrow as she dropped it into her bag. "Come on, boy," she called. "Let's get home!"
Earlier the day had been unseasonably warm, and Lila had needed only her flannel shirt over the sleeveless T-shirt she wore as underwear in this isolated place. Now there wasn't a square inch of her body that wasn't soaked through, even her feet in the high-top tennis shoes squished with every step. She shivered. Her back would not repay this kindly, she thought grimly, topping the rise by the cabin.
Emerging from the front door was Samuel, who had thrown a coat over his head. "Are you mad?" he called. "It's pouring!"
A gust of wind slammed into her wet body, and her teeth started chattering. Annoyed more with herself than with Samuel, she snapped, "I know."
She ignored him, bracing herself against the outer wall of the cabin to shake as much water from her hair as possible. She tried to stay away from Arrow, who performed the same task with much more efficiency. Both of them dashed into the sheltering warmth of the cabin.
"Ach," Samuel said, and slammed the door behind her.
A fire roared in the potbellied stove. Lila dropped her bag of chess pieces on the table and headed for towels.
"Here. I've got them out already," Samuel said behind her. "I saw that you weren't coming when the rain started. Dry your head. You'll catch a cold."
She accepted the towel, moving closer to the fire. "Thank you." With trembling fingers she struggled with the buttons of her flannel shirt, intent on shedding her soaked clothes as quickly as possible. If she warmed up quickly, she might prevent a debilitating episode with her back. Kicking off her shoes, she said, "Samuel, get me that quilt, will you?"
He moved to pull it off the bed. Lila stripped her shirt and tossed it to the bench, then rubbed her arms dry with the rough towel. Even next to the stove, she was agonizingly cold.
It wasn't until Samuel turned back, the heavy patchwork quilt in hand, that she realized how she must look, how little of her was really covered. Her jeans were stuck like glue to her body, and the sleeveless tanks she favored were made of thin, white cotton. She didn't dare glance down, suddenly feeling the warmth of the fire on her nearly naked breasts. She flushed and lowered her eyes, knowing she might as well not be wearing a shirt at all.
Samuel paused only an instant, and nothing showed in his face except for a tiny white line around his flared nostrils. He tossed the blanket around her shoulders, covering her, then pulled it tight, his fists under her chin. "Why did you stay out there so long?"
"Just a minute." He let her go. She unbuttoned her jeans under the quilt. When it was obvious they wouldn't come off without a struggle, she said, "Samuel, turn around for a minute, would you?"
He complied.
The small twinges she'd felt in her back on the beach were no longer simple warnings. As she bent to struggle out of the heavy wet cotton, pain seized the lower muscles with crushing force. She gasped and reached out instinctively for something to hold on to before she fell, stopping just in time from putting her hand on the hot stove. "Samuel," she cried, "help."
He caught her in a strong grip. For a long moment she leaned against him, holding her breath against the clutch of muscles in her back. The quilt had fallen away, but Lila couldn't find it in herself to care. His warm hands on her arms were steady and impersonal, his chest a secure and unmoving wall. After a moment the clutch in her back eased enough that she was able to shed her jeans, holding on to Samuel for support. When she had finished, he kindly retrieved the quilt and wrapped her up again.
"All right now?" he asked quietly.
"Yes." The word was nearly a whisper. Her cheeks burned. It must have seemed a ploy—her staying out in the rain only to return to undress in front of him. What must he think of her? Especially, she thought a little wildly, since he had been completely unmoved by her spectacle. Mortified beyond any previous experience and unable to escape, she turned away to sit on the bench near the fire.
Samuel watched the rosy blush climb from her shoulders to her cheeks until she was one raging flush. Her eyes were lowered modestly, her freckles lost in the heated color staining her skin. She was more excruciatingly embarrassed than anyone he had seen in years. For a moment he didn't really understand the reason. When he realized it stemmed from the accidental exposure of her carefully hidden body, he smiled gently and sat down next to her on the bench.
Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he said, "I have never seen such a blush, ma chérie. Come here." He pulled her, quilt and all, into his arms. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. We are alone in a small place,
with bad weather, yes? It was bound to happen that I would see you or you would see me."
She nodded, eyes downcast. The furious color in her cheeks began to recede.
Continuing in the same light vein, he teased, "And the world thinks America is full of decadent women."
She laughed, lifting her head to shyly pull away.
He released her. "I have water boiling for tea. That will warm you." He stood up, moving away from her, away from the stirring temptation of her richly feminine form. With his back turned, he carefully took a long, slow breath.
It was good she had taken such pains to cover herself, he thought, rattling a spoon in a cup, giving his body time to overcome the aching and instant arousal the sight of her had given him. Her breasts swung full and high above a waist as willowy as that of a girl, and her thighs were creamy and white, long for so small a woman. With a mental curse, he poured the water. His resolve was slipping with each moment he spent in her company. It would be so easy to love Lila, to explore and give pleasure to the lush figure that fulfilled the promise of her lips.
And yet the very tenderness that had arisen at her distress warned him that he could not simply feast with her and then move on, sated but unmoved. He feared he could not leave her, even now.
Resolutely he made the tea, stirring in the generous helping of sugar she liked. Carrying it to her, he said, "Now, what was so important out there that you had to risk pneumonia to get it?"
Moving stiffly, she smiled and reached for her bag. She upended it, spilling out a collection of shells, driftwood and rocks, along with a spray of sand. "Chess."
Samuel reached for the motley collection, fingering them curiously. He picked up a shell. "Pawns?"
She nodded, sipping her tea gingerly. "If you'll look in that drawer over there, there should be a piece of red-and-white gingham. I'll set it up."
"Are you ever still, Lila?" he asked.
Her eyes dropped, then rose to meet his. "Sometimes I am. Under the circumstances, however, it seems better to stay busy."
Fixed in the serenity of her pale green eyes, Samuel felt again a tide of unnameable emotion filling his chest and throat. Abruptly he stood, going to the drawer to find her gingham.
Watching his jerky movements, Lila frowned. Nothing she said seemed to be right. "Never mind, Samuel. It isn't that important."
"Yes, it is." He yanked the fabric from the drawer and shook it out.
"Maybe," she said, trying to curb a smile of amusement, "we should make bread. Kneading dough is great therapy."
He looked at her with narrowed eyes, and she thought he was about to explode in anger. Suddenly the tension in his body broke, and he took a long breath, the ghost of a smile easing the heavy lines in his face. "I'm acting like a child," he said. "Forgive me."
"It's just cabin fever."
He shook his head, then sighed. "Let's play chess. You've gone through such trouble to collect the pieces, it would be my pleasure to put my intuition to work."
There were limitations to the makeshift game, they found. The pieces were the same colors, making it impossible to keep the players straight. Lila tried smearing carbon from the fire on one set, but it quickly rubbed off during play, and none of the other ideas she had helped much either. With a half smile she said, "This is typical. I have these great ideas, and then overlook some critical detail."
"It is not an insurmountable detail," he replied. "Given a day or two, we could find a way to stain these other pieces."
"I know." It was an oblique reference to the fact that they had very little time left in this quiet hideaway. "I just wanted it today."
"Well, I'm hungry, anyway. Your soup has been tempting me for hours."
Lila had dried out somewhat and had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt. Now she stood up with some difficulty to fix their bowls.
Samuel shook his head. "Sit down. I will get it." Ladling the fragrant soup into wooden bowls, he said, "Your back is not well?"
"I'm all right." She shrugged. "The cold and damp aggravate it." But her blithe assurance was at best a half truth, for she knew by morning she'd be lucky to be walking. A hot bath and some exercises might help turn away a really bad episode, but the sheer work involved in such a process at the cabin was more than she could contemplate. Her back ached at the very thought of hauling buckets of water to the stove, water that would have to be drawn outside at the pump in the rain. Nor did she wish to ask Samuel for his help. She had already embarrassed herself once today. Once was enough.
Instead, she opened a bottle of wine. It sometimes helped to relax the recalcitrant muscles. She poured herself a tumbler and offered a glass to Samuel, who refused.
"I like your Einstein," she commented as they ate their supper. "There's a lot more to him than I knew."
"What do you like?"
"A lot of things. I mean we all know his work was partly responsible for the atom bomb, and that he developed the theory of relativity—" she widened her eyes "—a theory I certainly will never comprehend. But I didn't know that he liked silly jokes or that he played violin or that he was such a passionate humanitarian."
Samuel nodded, breaking a bit of crusty bread in his fingers. "There's a story in the Agada about why God created only one Adam. He did this to show us that one man in himself is an entire universe, and to destroy one human being is like destroying all of humanity." He paused. "He also wanted us all to know that we all came from the same place, the same man, so that we wouldn't boast of being descended from a greater Adam than someone else." Lifting a finger and an eyebrow, he added, "It always seemed to me that Einstein knew well that thought. It comes through in everything he wrote."
"Hmm," she said, nodding. "I like that story."
"It was one of my grandfather's favorites," Samuel replied, a glint in his eye. "Of course you like it. There's more to it, really, but those are the parts I always remember."
A little quiet fell. Lila listened to the rain outside and the fire within, their patterns oddly similar. "I think I'm going to do some more reading about scientists," she said. "I've never studied that kind of biography, but I find myself feeling very curious now." She paused. "What drew you to science, Samuel? What made you want to devote so much hard work to it, besides Einstein?"
"Einstein came later, after I'd already fallen in love with science." His brow furrowed in the manner she'd grown accustomed to. It meant he was gathering his thoughts, focusing them. "When my grandfather and I walked in the fields, looking at the vines, I was amazed this energy came from the sun with enough power to transform flowers into these plump grapes. It seemed magnificent that light could make a grape that I could feel and touch and taste." He smiled. "I drove my grandfather crazy with my questions, and he found a man who could answer them for me. And the more I understood, the more questions I had." He pursed his lips and shrugged, but the glitter remained in his eyes, a glitter of wonder. "It still amazes me, even today."
"But you gave it up."
He gestured as if throwing the idea over his shoulder. "I will never add anything to the body of knowledge already existing, so I turned my talents in another direction." He shook out a cigarette and lit it, blowing the smoke out with the sharpness he used on the first bit of a cigarette. "A mistake, as well, as it turns out."
"Why don't you go back to your studies of light, then?"
"Perhaps." He shrugged. "But I have duties to meet first."
"You and your duty," she said, but without rancor. She watched him for a moment, watched the lines tighten around his mouth. "It isn't just government stuff, though, is it, Samuel? There's something personal in your fight."
He nodded soberly, his black eyes meeting hers. "My brother."
"You have a brother?"
An amused light touched his face. "Yes. Three years older than I. His name is Mustapha."
"Can you tell me about him?"
"Mustapha…" He pursed his lips. "He is a troubled man but not a bad one, I think. He i
s in grave danger, and I must help him if I can."
Even if I must die. The words hung unspoken but definite in the air. With a lightness she did not feel, she said, "And I thought I'd come to know you a little bit."
He touched her hand across the table. "Never doubt it."
She looked at his hand, at the long brown fingers and lean strength of his palm. "It's hard to think of this being over," she said quietly.
"I know." He stroked her fingers meditatively, then with a shake of his head released them.
For a moment Lila stared into the pale rose wine in her glass, watching the fire play through it. "It is beautiful, isn't it?"
"The wine?" he asked with a smile.
"Light."
"It's like dancing. You can never really hold it or understand it, only wonder over it."
"You should find a way to put that wonder back in your life."
"I have," he said quietly. As if he could no longer resist, he crossed the small space between them and stood before her, reaching out with one hand to cup her cheek. "And I will always have you to thank for it."
She turned her face to press a kiss to his palm. "I'm glad."
Arrow, who had been peacefully sleeping in his favorite spot behind the stove, trotted out at that moment. His yawn crossed with a moan, and he headed straight for the door, looking back to the humans with pleading.
Samuel dropped his hand and went to open the door. When Arrow had gone out, he said, "I think I will go upstairs and read. Do you mind if I take the lamp?"
"No, please do."
She sighed as he nodded and left her, removing the temptation of loving her by removing himself. With a twist of her lips she wished he wasn't so damn disciplined.
In the very deepest part of the night, Samuel awoke to the sound of rain—and the tongue of a persistent dog licking his hand. "All right, Arrow," he said impatiently. "I'm awake. What is it?"
Arrow trotted to the head of the stairs and looked back over his shoulder. He whined softly.
"I let you out earlier. Can't you wait until morning?"