"Do you recognize yourself?"
"No, I'm a total stranger to myself. A complete cipher." He handed her back the mirror and leaned back against the pillows again, his eyes dark with misery.
"Maybe you need a name," piped a voice from the other end of the cabin.
"What?"
"I said, maybe you would feel less like a cipher if you had a name," repeated Susannah.
Angrily, he responded, "But I don't remember my name!"
"Then pick a new one," came the defensive reply.
"That's ridiculous."
"Maybe not," mediated Adele. "I'm not real comfortable calling you mister and stranger either. We could choose a temporary name for you to use until you remember your real one."
"And if I never remember my name?"
"Well, we'll choose a name you wouldn't mind using forever, if you have to."
Susannah pulled her chair over to the bedside. "What kind of name would you like? Should I get the Bible? We could pick a name from there."
"No, somehow going through life as an Ezekiel or Micah seems too austere."
"What about a saint? Peter or Michael?"
"Somehow I don't think I'm much of a saint," responded the stranger with a shrug, thinking a saint would not be lusting after his hostess like he was.
Adele was sitting quietly with her eyes closed. The stranger looked at her, "Aren't you playing this game?"
"Brian," said Adele, firmly.
"Brian?" he responded. "Why Brian?"
"You look like a Brian."
"Have you ever met anyone named Brian before?" he asked.
"No. I just decided that you look like a Brian."
The stranger laughed. "Adele, if you say I look like a Brian, then Brian it shall be. How about a last name now?"
Susannah put in, "We've been calling you stranger so much that it feels like part of your name. How about Brian Stranger?"
Brian frowned. "No not Stranger...but I could live with Brian Strange."
"Brian Strange," repeated Adele and Susannah in turn.
Brian held out his hand to Susannah. "My name is Brian Strange; pleased to meet you, Miss Susannah."
Susannah took his hand and shook it, careful to avoid his stitches. "Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Strange."
Brian then held out his hand to Adele. "My name is Brian Strange; I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Stoddard."
Adele took his hand to shake it, but Brian pulled her hand to his lips and gently kissed the knuckles that joined her fingers to her palm. His mustache brushed the back of her hand like soft silk bristles. Their eyes met over her hand, his grays smoky with desire, her browns wide with the realization that his desire might match her own. Frightened, she pulled her hand away, grabbed the shaving equipment and walked quickly to the sink, where she used the pump to rinse the bowl and razor.
"What's the matter, Sissy?" Susannah asked.
"Nothing. I've got too many things to do to sit around playing silly games. And so do you; Mabel needs her evening milking."
"Evening milking? But I already...." Susannah realized that, for some reason, her presence was not desired. "All right," she grumbled, "I'm going." Susannah grabbed her shawl and a lantern and disappeared out the door into the deepening dusk.
Adele tromped over to the rocking chair and reached down for the shirt she was altering. For a long time neither she nor Brian said anything. The silence was broken only by the sounds of their breathing and the occasional click of Adele's brass thimble against the needle or a button.
"I'm sorry if I upset you," came the voice from the bed.
"I'm not upset."
"I was just trying to be gallant."
"I'm not upset, Brian!"
"You're not upset and I've got ten fingers," was the sardonic response.
"That's not my fault. Who told you to go riding the range alone in the middle of a snowstorm so you could run into somebody who'd chop your finger off?" she fairly shouted back.
"I wish I could remember. I'd kill him!"
"It was probably your own stupid idea. You're lucky I showed up when I did or you'd have frozen to death."
Brian was suddenly quiet. "You're right. I was damned lucky. Adele, did you see anything around that would identify me. Clothes, papers, anything?"
"No. You were stark naked and stripped bare. I didn't see anything around, not even a button. Whoever got you intended you to die of exposure even if you regained consciousness. It was snowing when I found you, another couple of hours and I would have passed by without seeing you at all."
"Was there a clue as to who got me?"
"No, the snow obliterated any tracks there might have been, but I was more concerned with trying to get you back here alive than with anything else. Dead men don't need identities."
"Maybe I am dead and you're angels."
"I doubt it. This surely isn't heaven and a skinny old maid and a young girl are sorry excuses for angels." Besides, she thought, you're far too alive to be a dead man.
"I don't think you're skinny." No, I think you're just the right size. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty-three."
"That's too young for an old maid."
"I'm resigned to it." No, I guess for the first time in my life I'm really not. "I'm too busy here trying to keep this farm going to go husband hunting. Besides, I'm five foot ten, most of the men I've met are my height or shorter."
"What about your sister?"
"Susannah won't even be sixteen for three weeks. She has plenty of time. Besides she thinks more about drawing than she does about boys. She needs to find a man who'll encourage her art and who won't take great stock in the condition of her foot. And if she's really lucky, she'll stop growing now so she has more choices than I do."
"Adele, come over here."
"I can hear you fine from here."
"Don't resign yourself to loneliness," Brian added quietly. "Look, I don't remember if I have any relatives or not. I don't remember when or where I was born nor where I live nor what I do for a living. Earlier I lay here trying to remember any thread, any flash of my past. It's completely gone. Can you even begin to imagine how lonely that is?"
Adele shook her head.
"It's as if I was born today, fully grown with a man's body and needs but with a child's ignorance. My whole world is bounded by the walls of this cabin. From this bed I can't even see outside. For all I know the whole world consists of myself, two women and a silly little tomcat. You know, giving me a name is an even greater act of kindness than saving my life."
"I don't understand."
"Susannah was right. Even if it's a made-up identity, now that I have one I feel like a person again. You gave that to me. Pulling me out of the cold saved my body, naming me saved my life."
"I just try to do the right thing."
"Do the right thing for yourself as well. You're a beautiful woman. Let someone love you."
Adele put down her sewing and stood up. "I have to go to bed now." The conversation was making her decidedly uncomfortable.
She extinguished the lamps and walked swiftly into the bedroom and changed for bed. Brian lay back in bed in the near darkness. The only sounds in the house were the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the sobbing coming from the bedroom. Brian was so exhausted that he closed his eyes and was already asleep when Susannah came back in from her useless excursion to the barn to take herself into the bedroom.
BRIAN OPENED his eyes the next morning to see Susannah opening the door. He glanced around the cabin.
"Where are you going?"
"Out to milk Mabel."
"Where's Adele?"
"She's out chopping firewood next to the house. See you later," answered Susannah as she breezed out, pulling the door closed behind her.
Alone in the cabin, Brian pushed back the quilt and eased himself upright in bed. Throbbing in his head nearly drove him flat on his back, but he shook it off and sat upright, swinging h
is long legs over to sit on the side of the bed.
Rising slowly on rubbery legs, Brian locked his knees as his balance threatened to betray him. After over a week in bed, he felt as weak as a newborn colt. Feeling some strength surging back into his limbs, Brian walked slowly over to the rocking chair where it stood near the fireplace. Adele's sewing basket stood next to the rocker. The trousers and shirt she had been altering lay on top of the basket. Sitting down on the rocker, Brian reached for the trousers first. The soft brown wool of the legs had been lengthened to the extent of the fabric. Seamed to the bottoms with tiny stitches were extensions of a slightly different brown wool, which were hemmed with small, secure slip stitches.
Brian smiled slightly, realizing that their father, whose trousers these must have been, had been a good four to six inches shorter than he was. He considered how Adele might have measured the length of his legs and the thought made him start to harden, but he fought it. He pulled the trousers on and buttoned the fly placket, finding them a little too big in the waist and hips. Well, I've probably lost some weight that she figures I'll gain back, he thought. Pulling the nightshirt over his head, he then pulled up the suspenders buttoned onto the trousers to rest on his shoulders, which effectively held the pants up.
Brian reached down to get the shirt that lay beneath the trousers. The shirt wasn't quite finished. Adele had extended the length and breadth of the light blue cambric with pieces of dark blue calico. It was obvious from the pattern that Adele didn't keep a stock of more masculine fabrics for herself and her sister but had tried to find the most subtle print she could to alter the shirt. The cuffs had been removed, but the sleeves had not yet been lengthened.
Brian put on the shirt, readjusting the suspenders and rolling up the unfinished sleeves to above his elbows. He was sure he looked as patched together as the clothes.
Seeing no cupboards except in the kitchen area, Brian guessed that Adele and Susannah must keep their clothes in the bedroom. He padded on his bare feet past the cloth drape hanging in the doorway to the room. A quick look through the upright armoire revealed nothing but dresses and other women's things. He turned to the trunk he saw nearby. Opening it he rummaged through looking for socks and footwear. Under the neatly folded quilts and unfinished tops, he found several pairs of woolen socks; one of which he took. He also found a worn pair of work boots. Sitting on the bed he put on the socks and then, crossing his fingers, and wincing slightly at the pull on the stitches in his right hand, he yanked on the boots. They fit very snugly, but they fit.
"Well, the late Mr. Stoddard may have been shorter than I, but thank God he had big enough feet."
Walking back into the main room and towards the cabin door, he took the battered felt hat and the sheepskin jacket off the peg rack by the door and put them on as he headed out the door.
The freezing air hit Brian like a punch. The sky was a bright overcast, like a pale gray blanket. There was no wind.
The only sound he heard was the erratic chopping sound of ax on wood. Brian followed the sound to the side of the cabin to find Adele by the woodshed, ax in hand, legs braced before a chopping block. She wore a dark blue dress of the same calico she had used to patch together his shirt. Her shawl lay on the ground nearby. Her dark brown hair was plaited in its same single long braid down her back that slid enticingly back and forth as she wielded the ax.
As if she sensed his presence, Adele stopped, lowering the ax to rest near her ankle, gripping the end of the ax handle in her right hand.
A big grin lit up her face. "You're up. That's wonderful. How do you feel?"
"A little rubbery, but surprisingly good."
"I'm so glad." Brian could hear genuine sincerity in her voice. He was glad their tense encounter of the night before was no longer present in her voice or attitude. "Privy's around back," she gestured.
"Thanks."
"Where's Susannah?"
"In the barn, milking," he gestured.
"It's freezing out here. Maybe you shouldn't be out here so soon."
"I couldn't just lie in bed like a helpless baby while you chopped firewood."
"You're recovering from nearly being beaten and frozen to death. You don't need to rush things, you know."
"I know, but I feel like all I'm doing is taking from you and not giving back. It's not a fair exchange. The least I can do is chop wood."
Adele raised the ax with both hands on the long handle spread apart and held it out to Brian. He walked over to her and put his hands on the handle. The sides of his hands brushed hers and the air was rent by a sharp intake of breath from Brian.
"Oh, your hand! I'm sorry," exclaimed Adele.
"No, it's okay," he responded, taken aback because the gasp came not from any pain in his mutilated hand, but from a frisson of shock at their physical contact that shot to his core like a lightning bolt.
Adele looked up at the tall male. The eyes that met Brian's steel gray ones seemed to have gold flecks in them he hadn't noticed indoors.
They stood together, barely inches apart, both still holding the ax handle for a time--stopping eternity.
Then Adele broke eye contact. "Have you got it?" she inquired.
"Got it?"
"The ax."
"Oh, yes--the ax. Yes, I've got a hold on it."
Adele released her grip. Her arms felt amazingly weightless.
"Um--bring the ax inside when you're done. No sense rusting our only good ax."
"Of course," came the masculine reply.
Adele turned away and started to step toward the cabin door. Her thoughts raced. I wanted to kiss him--I wanted him to kiss me. What is it about this man?
"Um--Adele?" came a quiet voice behind her.
She turned. "What is it, Brian?" she responded in an unnaturally husky voice.
"It just occurred to me--I don't think I know how to chop wood."
Adele saw a strange look of confusion and innocence in Brian's handsome face that made him look boyish. Her response was gut felt, relieved laughter.
Through her laughter, she stated, "I should have guessed from those hands of yours that you've never done a day's hard labor."
Brian shot back in a commanding voice, the look of innocence gone, "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No," she replied, walking over to him and lifting his right hand off the ax handle. Turning the palm up, she pointed with her index finger to his remaining fingers. "Look, you have no calluses; no scars except for the new one." Turning his hand palm down, she continued, "Your cuticles show care. Your nails aren't stained underneath and they're smooth. You're a city man who does city work."
"Is that bad?"
"No, not at all." She opened her own work-roughened hand. "See my hand? I'm a farmer. I chop wood, plow fields, cook sometimes and sew, even do carpentry and masonry when I have to. If I lived in the city, my hands might be smooth and pretty. But bankers and lawyers and teachers and businessmen; their work is important, too. It just doesn't rough up their hands."
Brian closed his hand over hers for a moment. "Well, I guess today this city man needs a lesson in how to be a farmer."
They both laughed. Suddenly, Adele rose slightly on her toes. Placing her hand on Brian's cheek, she pressed a quick kiss on his other one. Then she just as quickly let go and dropped to her flat feet again with a smile.
"Well, city man," she began, "stand with your feet apart and hold the ax handle with your left hand near the blade and your right hand near the end...."
Chapter 5
A FEW DAYS after the wood chopping lesson, Adele took out the stitches from his head and hand. The scars would never go away, but her careful work had reduced the disfigurement as much as possible.
While it was clear that Brian had no experience with working on a farm, he was not afraid to take lessons. He learned to chop wood, fork hay, shovel out the barn. He milked the cow, fed the chickens, renailed loose boards on the house and outbuildings.
Adele was constantly sur
prised to see his intense concentration on learning each task. Everything was new to him, and he tackled each chore in a most precise and methodical way, determined to master every skill. Whether his teacher was Adele or Susannah, he asked intelligent questions and listened to the answers. If he didn't know how to do something, he admitted it.
Eventually. Sometimes he would try to do a chore first before asking for help. Adele chalked that up to his being a man.
As Brian worked, he discovered muscles he had probably never used before. And those muscles seemed to be expanding--even in the short time he had been working on the farm it seemed that his shirts were getting tighter in the shoulders and sleeves. His arms and back ached with ungodly pain, but he also found energy from the sweat and exertion. Fortunately, at the end of the day, Adele was present with the liniment bottle. Her strong fingers kneaded life back into his sore shoulders, filling him with heat that was both pleasant and unbearable.
One evening he was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, as a fully-clothed Adele massaged his sore back, when he asked, "Why don't you wear your hair down like Susannah does?"
"Susannah is fifteen. A respectable adult woman simply doesn't wear her hair down. I'm no coquette. The only reason I don't wear my hair all the way up is because I don't have enough hairpins left to pin it up and forgot to get more the last time we went to Green River. The braid is the best I can do for now."
"I've been trying to imagine how you would look with your hair loose about your face."
"I would look silly. I learned to face reality a long time ago, Brian."
"Which reality?"
"The reality that I'm twenty-three years old, live miles from nowhere and have never been courted. I'm not the kind of woman men fall for. I'm not a soft, delicate little flower like the girls you've known."
"Even I don't know what kind of girls I've known, remember? Some men might appreciate a girl who wouldn't faint or throw a fit the moment the going got a little rough. Soft, delicate little flowers suck the life out of a man."
Remember My Love Page 5