Why did I come home and remind myself of everything I once loved?
There was only one thing to do. Leave. Before it was too late.
Only there was something she had to do first. Something she had to set right. Jonathon wasn’t going to like it at all, but she’d deal with him later.
She shut the door quietly behind her and walked slowly over to where Rain was working on the truck.
“Rain?” she said softy so as not to startle him, feeling her resolve soften with the sound of his name. She detected a slight pause in his work.
“Yes?” he asked from under the hood.
Emily spoke to his back, her gaze wandering unconsciously from the jean-clad narrow hips to his broad, strong shoulders, her eyes lingering on a lock of curling hair that was the colour of a wheat field in the sun. She took a deep, ragged breath. "I've come to apologize." She paused, but there was no response. She looked up at the sky with its dense, dark clouds and gathered her father's freshly laundered plaid jacket closer around her, a simple gesture that gave her courage. She plunged on. "Everything you said last night was right. I've been a snob and a bully, and I'm sorry." Her tone, she realized, sounded rather surly. But then she was out of practise; she hadn’t apologized to anyone for anything in years.
There was still no response from Rain, but it was quiet, as if he had put down his tools and was at least listening. But Emily couldn't begin to – and probably never would – deal with the big questions, like where had she been for the last years of her father's life. All she could do was apologize for her actions since yesterday, offer some kind of restitution, and hope to get away before all the old wounds reopened. Also, as much as she was loath to admit it, even to herself, she didn’t want to go away with Rain hating her.
"When you're done there, I was wondering if you'd walk the fence lines of your land with me." She emphasized the your. It worked. Rain stepped back from the truck and, straightening up, turned to face her. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag and eyed her carefully before replying. She averted her eyes, looking over his shoulder as if something in the trees had caught her attention. A black crow rose up from the skeletal branches.
"Okay.” He said at last. “Give me twenty minutes and meet me at the cabin." His voice was matter-of-fact and businesslike, and she was aware of feeling disappointed. Well, what did she expect? A thank you for what was rightly his?
She let the screen door slam behind her this time and went to the stove for the last cup of coffee in the pot. It was grey and bitter. What she wouldn't give for a cup of cappuccino from the café downstairs from her office. Another good reason to get back to Toronto. She sat at the table still dressed in her flannel jacket and rubber boots, slowly sipping coffee while she watched the clock tick away twenty minutes. After what seemed like forever, she rinsed the cup in the sink and placed it on the drain board.
Rain exited the cabin door as Emily reached the porch steps. He came down the stairs, passing so close to her that she felt his arm brush against her. The touch was as light as a feather, but there was nothing light in Emily's reaction. Her breath caught sharply in her throat, her heart lurched, and her knees threatened to buckle. What’s happening? she thought with rising panic. Aware that Rain was looking at her with interest, she put her hand on the porch railing to steady herself.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Just lost my footing for a moment,” she mumbled, looking at her boots to hide her flaming cheeks.
He looked at her downcast face, wondering if he’d read what just happened correctly. It was the same sort of reaction as when he had touched her in the kitchen the night before. If nothing else, he still had a physical effect on her. What would happen if he tried to kiss her?
Suddenly Emily raised her head and their eyes met. The moment of vulnerability was gone, and she looked prepared for business again. “Ready?” she said briskly.
“Yes.” It was his turn to mumble. He turned and led the way into the woods.
"I'm going to need access to the road," he said after they had walked in silence for a while. He didn’t really want to talk about carving up the farm, but if that was the only thing she was willing to discuss with him right now, he’d go along with it for the time being. “It’s probably best to make it part of my fifty acres rather than you trying to sell the farm with the condition that I can drive through their property whenever I want.”
"Okay," she said, a little surprised that he was making it easier for her to sell. Including a driveway in his fifty acres would take a large chunk out of his parcel, the distance from the road being quite far. She felt guilty again. "You can have the driveway in addition to the fifty acres. It's going to cost a fortune to put in a serviceable driveway. It's a long way to the road." Why didn’t she just give him the whole thing, and be done with it?
She couldn’t help but think of Jonathon just then. He was going to be furious with her.
"I know," he said. "I'm not looking forward to clearing it in the winter either."
For a moment, she couldn’t remember what they were talking about. Right. The driveway. He’d have to plow the snow in winter. “Take the truck as well,” she said distractedly. “It has a plow.”
Without slowing his pace, he turned around and gave her an inquiring look, trying to determine whether she was up to something. She didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t know what to make of her mood today. No doubt it had something to do with the blow-up in the kitchen the night before, but he found it disturbing. It was if she didn’t care anymore. He wondered what she’d say if he asked for the whole farm. "I'll buy the truck from you," he said, turning his attention back to the path in front of them.
They walked in silence for a few more minutes until they came to a weathered rail fence. “This is the western boundary of the property,” he said stopping. “We can run the driveway from the road to here along the fence line.”
“Makes sense,” Emily said, barely hearing his actual words. Her thoughts had suddenly wandered from the farm to Rain’s back, the easy confidence of his walk, the broad shoulders, the jean-clad legs. She took advantage of the fact that he had stopped to step by him on the path, wanting to get in front of him where she couldn’t be distracted by him.
She started to follow the fence southward to the lake, listening with over-acute ears to his footsteps on the path behind her. It seemed to her that he was now watching her with all the intensity with which she had watched him only moments before. She imagined his eyes concentrating on her behind and wondered what his thoughts were. If they were anything like hers, they were pretty racy. Fantasizing along these lines made her feel so self-conscious that she lost her footing on some loose stones in the path and stumbled.
Rain, right behind her, caught her before she hit the path. He picked her up from behind with the ease he would pick up a child. He stood her on her feet and turned her around in his arms until she was facing him, his head bent close to hers. The sense of being a child faded as she looked up into his eyes. Mixed with the concern for her wellbeing, she saw something else. It was deja vu, not only in what she saw in his eyes, but also in her own body’s reaction. It was as if the last ten years had dropped away and she was seventeen again, standing in the strong protecting circle of Rain's arms, their mouths so close she could have reached up ever so slightly and lost herself in his kiss. It was possible. He would kiss her back. She could see it in his eyes, the desire that made his eyes look like blue fire. What would happen if she gave into her own? What would happen if she let herself go? Allowed herself feelings for Rain again?
She saw his face moving close to her own, felt the soft warmth of his breath as it stirred her hair. A wave of his own hair brushed her cheek. Emily felt herself relaxing into his arms; she longed to be part of him, to melt into the hardness of his body and drown in the blueness of his eyes.
Involuntarily her lips parted to meet his. But just as his mouth touched hers, she panicked, and, yanking herself from his grasp, she
turned and ran toward the lake.
Rain watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest as if it were about to explode. He waited until she had all but disappeared among the trunks of the trees before following. He could have kicked himself for acting so rashly. Just because she had decided not to fight him on his half of the farm didn’t mean she had changed her feelings toward him. Although last night in the kitchen he could have sworn she still felt something, even if it was only physical. And just a few minutes ago, walking along the path, he could have sworn he felt her eyes burning into his back.
In the stillness of the woods, he could hear the sound of breaking twigs and the crunching of leaves under her boots. Overhead a lone crow cawed, and it came to him then that it wouldn’t matter if Emily did still have feelings for him. Years ago she had resolved to hate him, and she was hanging on to that resolve for dear life. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the closeness of her face to his, the soft brush of her lips, and he wondered if she’d ever let him get that close again.
It was too early for the lake to ice over, but there was no sign of warmth in its waters. They had walked in a circle and the log cabin was behind her, only steps from the beach. The lake was as grey as the sky overhead, dull and lifeless. The swing, its ropes frayed and worn, still hung from the oak tree.
"Do you remember the swing?" Rain said, emerging from the woods onto the pebbly beach. Keeping his distance, he leaned against the trunk of a tree, watching Emily as she stood looking over the water.
"Of course. I’ve been away. I don't have amnesia." She had tried to summon some sarcasm to hide behind, but it was unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Are you sure? I remember a time when you would have gladly kissed me," he said gently.
"That was a long time ago,” she said sadly. You can’t go home again. It was a cliché but perhaps in her case fitting.
Yet it wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to kiss Rain. It was that she couldn’t. She had been suppressing her feelings for so long that she could no longer express them. The moment his lips had touched hers, she had run for her very life. She told herself it was better this way – she couldn’t risk being hurt again.
"Look, Rain,” she said, trying to keep her voice from betraying her fear. “I came back here to sell this place, to end this part of my life forever. I didn't want to come back. I would’ve been perfectly happy never to see this place again.” She took a breath. “And don’t try to kiss me again," she added feebly.
Rain took heart in the unconvincing tone of her last words but decided it was best not to say anything about what had almost just happened between them. He focused on the first part of her speech. "Okay, fair enough. But how about me? It’s my home, and I love it.” Like you used to love it...and me too, he thought.
No response from Emily. He was still talking to her back. She may be determined to hate him, but that didn’t mean he had to give up trying. “Just before your father died, he asked for you. He wanted to tell you how glad he was the farm would be in your hands and not going to strangers."
This made her turn around. She felt defensive anger rising in her throat. "Don't try and make me feel guilty, Rain, because it won't work. This place killed my mother, so I don't think him wanting to pass it on to me was exactly a gift from a loving father. If he had really loved his family, he would have sold it long ago."
"Em." Only Rain had ever called her Em. She had allowed it in the same way he had allowed her to call him Rain. "Your mother's death was an accident." His voice had become very quiet, and she was conscious of the quiet lapping of the waves against the pebbly shoreline. "She could just as easily have been killed in a car accident in the middle of the city."
"But, she wasn't, was she?” she said bitterly. “She was crushed to death by a piece of farm machinery.” She held stubbornly to her fear and hatred, last night’s dream playing again in her head.
Rain wondered not for the first time how much Emily knew of the events surrounding her mother’s death. And not for the first time he wondered if he should tell her everything that happened that day. Resting against the tree, he closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. But he hardly stood a chance with her as it was. If she knew everything.... Later, he promised himself, when the time was right…
Emily looked at Rain. He looked so comfortable and easy in these wild surroundings, his head tilted toward the sky as if to catch the cool wind on his face, his eyes closed. It was true she had panicked when he tried to kiss her, but she had wanted that kiss very, very much.
She gathered the jacket tighter to her and sat down on a rock overlooking the lake. It was a small lake, about one square mile in size. Maple Tree Farm bordered the northern shore, crown land the southern shore. In the centre of the lake was a small tree‑covered island that also belonged to the farm. Who gets the island? she wondered idly.
Rain opened his eyes. "Do you remember when we dug for pottery shards and arrowheads on the island?" he asked, as if he knew her thoughts. She nodded. "I’ve since learned Huron Natives lived on the island and all around here. But by the time your great-great-great‑great grandfather Michael Alexander was given this land in the early 1800s, the Hurons were long gone from the area." He told the story as if he knew his subject well. "Michael Alexander was British and helped defeat Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo. After the war, he was given the job of escorting Napoleon to his place of exile at St. Helena. When he returned to Britain, he was granted this piece of land as a reward."
"How do you know all this?" she asked with genuine curiosity, her fear forgotten for a moment.
"There’s a book on the subject," he said.
"On my ancestors?" she asked with surprise.
"That's right." He left his station by the tree and walked down to the beach, careful not to get too close to her. He picked up a smooth, flat pebble from the beach and expertly skipped it across the water.
"Like so many settlers,” he continued, “Alexander and his wife were not prepared for the hardships. The first winter they nearly starved. They had arrived late in the fall and had to live on the food they had brought with them, which wasn't much.
“When the ox they bought for clearing the land died of cold and starvation, they ate it. Other more established settlers gave them what they could spare in the way of flour and sugar, and Alexander himself was able to hunt with some success. At one point during the winter, a Mohawk man travelling in the area stopped by their cabin with a brace of rabbits.”
Rain stopped to look at a shell he had found among the pebbles before continuing. “The next year was little better. Alexander wasn't a farmer, he was a soldier. Back in England, he had been led to believe that the land in Canada was so fertile that one only needed to drop seed on the ground in the spring to enjoy a bountiful harvest in fall. What a shock he must have had. Forest and rock – that’s all there was. The land had to be cleared of trees, stumps, roots, and rocks before anything could be planted. And remember, they had already eaten the ox. That year, he barely grew more potatoes than the seed potatoes he planted.”
Emily looked around, thinking that despite “progress” in the form of roads and farms, how little this part of the country had changed. It was still trees and rock.
“That fall they had a baby boy named August,” Rain went on, looking out across the water, as if he were seeing the country through Alexander’s eyes. “Alexander decided that the only way they could get through the winter was if he went to work trapping for the Hudson Bay Company. So, in early November, off he went, on foot, to find the Hudson Bay Company, promising his wife he'd be back by Christmas.
“Two weeks before Christmas, it got very cold. The baby was sick, and Alexander’s wife was worried about him getting a chill. She built a big fire in the fireplace, and the wooden chimney caught on fire."
"Wooden chimney?" Emily asked in surprise. “That sounds dangerous.”
Rain started in surprise at her voice. He had become so absorbed in his own story,
he had almost forgotten he was telling it for her benefit.
"Yes. They often built wooden chimneys. Although they must have known how dangerous they were. It was easier though, given the scarcity of materials."
"Did the house burn down?" she asked with genuine interest. She had never given much thought to her ancestors, but Rain was making them seem so real, she couldn’t help but be curious.
"To the ground,” he said with a sigh. “She saved the baby and a few blankets from the bed, but not much else. Fortunately, the little food she had was stored in the root cellar dug into the cabin floor. She took the baby and their meagre belongings she had saved into the cellar, closed the trap door over her head, and stayed there with the baby in the dark and the cold, virtually buried alive, with nothing to eat but potatoes."
"And they survived?" she asked incredulously.
Rain smiled inwardly. He was pleased with himself. He couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction. A few minutes ago, she had been hostile, but now she was animated and friendly. He decided to push his luck. “I’ll tell you what,” he said casually as he skipped yet another pebble through the water. “If you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow, I’ll give you the next instalment of the story.”
“Dinner?” she asked with obvious surprise.
“Yes. Why not?” he said, already wondering if it was a mistake. He was pushing his luck again....
“Okay, sure.” she said. Rain looked at her, and for a moment their eyes met. He gazed into them and wondered if he hadn’t been too presumptuous in thinking she was impossible to reach. But just then, the guarded look returned. It was as dramatic as a cloud passing over the sun. She looked away, stood up, and without a word started along the shoreline.
Falling for Rain Page 5