“There is more among heaven and earth than we’ve dreamed,” she whispered.
“What was that?” His voice sounded so close, she stopped. He bumped into her, grabbing her upper arms to keep her from bouncing forward. She twisted her head around to see him.
Even with the hump of her pack between them, his face was only a few inches from hers, her eyes level with his beard. How soft or scratchy was the hair? She swallowed, her voice thin. “I said, ‘There is more among heaven and earth than we’ve dreamed.’”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes. Are you a fan?”
“I prefer Mark Twain’s earthiness. ‘Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company.’”
The pithiness of his choice had her smiling. “I pegged you as an adventure reader, if you read at all.”
“Wasn’t Huckleberrry Finn basically an adventure?”
“True. And Jack London wrote amazing adventures, of course.”
Hearing his name, the dog barked and wagged his tail. They both laughed. Their relationship—if it even qualified as one—veered sharply from adversarial into uncharted territory. Not friendship by any stretch, but they danced on the edge of ease.
While they were still locked in a strange almost embrace, a snowflake drifted and landed in his beard, melting on contact. With more effort than it should have cost, she peeled her gaze from his and looked skyward. Through the gaps in the treetops, snow filtered to the ground.
A hush fell over the woods. Not a single bird chirped or squirrel chattered. It was a lonely feeling even though she wasn’t alone.
“Who’s Laurence?” she whispered. Not sure what had prompted her to even ask, she remained still. The moment took on the feel of a priest’s confessional.
His hands flexed on her arms, but he didn’t release her or push her forward. “The man who adopted me,” he whispered in return.
“I’m sorry.” Except she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. Perhaps the pain she could sense under his stoic answer. Perhaps the events that had necessitated an adoption at all.
“Don’t be. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
She sucked in a breath, the cold making her lungs tingle. So old. What had happened to him before he’d turned sixteen? Where were his parents? Had they died? And how? Questions stumbled over one another to get out, but before she could formulate the words, he released her, the confessional door flung open.
“We need to get a move on. We have another hour at least before we can make camp.”
She checked the compass to confirm their direction and trudged along, her head down, her mind troubled. For a while, those troubles distracted her from the pain in her feet. But soon enough each step was like walking barefoot on hot coals. She gritted her teeth. No one died from a blister.
After an eternity, he said, “Holler if you see a promising spot to make camp.”
A tent would require ground space. She spotted a clearing through the trees. Snow dusted the pine needles and scrubby grass in the clearing like sifted powdered sugar. Except way colder.
She dropped her pack to the ground and rolled her shoulders. Shedding the weight lent her a second wind. They’d have the tent up and a fire going in a half hour tops. “Where do you want to set up the tent?”
“What tent?”
“The one in your pack?”
The look he gave her landed squarely in the middle of pity and amusement. “You really are a city girl. We build our shelter.”
She was too hungry and cold to rise to his bait. “How?”
“I’ll show you. Did you bring a hatchet?”
“I did.” She pulled it out and scraped the price tag off the wooden handle while turning to face him. His was twice as big as hers. She clinked the blades together. “Seriously? If I was a man, this would give me a complex.”
Again, a smile threatened to crack his stony expression. “It’s too late to build anything off the ground, but the fire ants are dormant and the bugs are minimal. We can use pine needles as ground insulation. And boughs as cover. Look for low limbs, less than an inch in diameter.”
He did an about-face and stopped at an evergreen to chop. She headed in the opposite direction and found a young tree with thin branches and set to work. A raw place formed on the pad of her palm. She tugged on gloves, but the fleece made it difficult to keep a strong hold and she tucked them back in her pocket. Sweat broke over her forehead in spite of the freezing temperatures.
She dragged over the half-dozen limbs she’d managed to fell. He joined her with bigger, fuller branches. “I’m surprised you aren’t making me do all the work,” she said caustically. Her blistered hand and feet soured her mood by the minute.
“I’m here to teach you, not torture you.”
Her huff was a poof of white in the cold air. “Then teach me, wise one.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I didn’t mean … It was sarcasm.”
His sparkling eyes were too warm and attractive for her comfort. She preferred him harsh and unfriendly.
“Just show me.” She gestured.
“The fastest shelter is a lean-to or teepee type shelter. It’s also good in cold weather because it keeps heat in. Now, which direction should it face?”
“Away from the wind?”
“Exactly. So, we’ll face this way. I have cordage to make the braces.”
She caught on quickly, and they worked in silence. The sky was still spitting out snow and had turned a dimmer switch on the sun. Dusk crept closer. Her fingers were clumsy, and ice encased her feet. Except where her blisters burned. And all she could think about was food. Something hot, like soup.
For that they’d need a fire? “What about a fire?”
“You gather twigs we can use as kindling. I’ll gather fuel. You brought a fire stick?”
She nodded and trudged back into the woods, doing her best to scoot her feet without exacerbating her blisters. With her exertion level falling, a chill crept over her body. She shivered. Coming back with the kindling, she was thankful to see the pile of wood and a half-finished fire ring.
She retrieved her fire stick and sat cross legged on the ground next to where he was squatting. Dampness registered too late. She popped to her knees. The butt of her jeans was wet. If she weren’t so tired and hungry and cold, she would have laughed.
“What’d you bring back?”
She made her offering without words. He picked through the twigs and dead fronds and made a mound in the circle of rocks. “We’ll leave the rest to feed the flame once we get it started. It’s a delicate balance of fuel and air. Give it a shot.”
She clutched the fire stick, having read the instructions but not actually taken it out for a practice run. She set the stick on the edge of the mound and pushed down. A tiny spark emerged.
“More and faster,” he said.
She pushed and pushed, the sparks coming but nothing lighting like a firework dud. Breathing hard, she sat back on her haunches, fighting tears and not wanting to admit defeat, even though that’s exactly how she felt. Defeated. “Can you try?”
She held out the fire stick. He took it and her hand both, tilting her palm toward the fading light. “Are these new?”
“Believe it or not, my accounting job generally doesn’t require hatchet work.”
“Jesus, why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.”
Many reasons surfaced. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. She didn’t want to appear weak. She’d talked herself into this mess and would push through to the end. What she said was a deeper truth that went beyond chopping wood or starting a fire. “I don’t like asking for help.”
His hand was bigger and calloused, yet his thumb glanced over her palm with an almost unbearable gentleness. “Is that why you don’t want to accept the money?”
Her gaze clashed with his, but with darkness falling
it was impossible to get a read on his emotions. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, the slide of her fingers through his unexpectedly comforting. She pressed her fist into the cold, wet ground as punishment for betraying her. His kindness was disorienting.
“Could you get a fire going? Please?” The last word cost her, but it was a price she was willing to pay for warmth and light.
After ten minutes, he too was unsuccessful and sat back, stretching his shoulders. “It’s too wet. Always a problem out here, but doubly so with the rain we’ve had the last week.”
“What now? We huddle under the lean-to all night?” A night under the insubstantial array of branches seemed impossible. She would survive—maybe. Was her misery worth whatever information Bennett would be willing to give?
She moved back under the boughs and sat next to Jack to steal his warmth with her arms wrapped around her legs, her head on her knees. The insulating pine needles kept her butt mostly dry but poked through the denim.
“Come on, then.” The low rumble of his voice brought her head up.
He stood over her, a hulking shadow blocking the remainder of the light. His hand was extended. She looked at it, finally making the decision to grab hold. He hauled her up.
“Grab your pack and watch your step.”
Jack London bounded ahead, and Bennett didn’t call him back as he’d done throughout the day. She matched his stride and put her feet in his steps, her head down.
It wasn’t until he stopped that she looked up. A small cabin stood on a rise. She slapped his arm. “You freaking have a cabin out here?”
“For emergencies.”
“But you let me chop trees and nearly kill myself starting a fire. What if we’d slept outside and I’d turned into a Popsicle?”
“Stop being dramatic. You’re paying to learn survival techniques.”
“You know that’s not—”
He turned so fast on her she took a step back. A crackling energy, like the moment after a lightning strike, held her immobile in his focus. Jack London barked at the door and broke the spell.
“Come on then.” Bennett had to duck his head to clear the frame.
She made herself step after him even though danger pulsed with every beat of her heart. The interior of the cabin was cool and dark, but her relief to be surrounded by four walls and a roof was acute and trumped the sense of danger.
Bennett headed straight to a fireplace in the middle of the far wall. The cabin’s chinked walls, low ceiling, and woodsy smell made her think of school-days field trips taken to old plantations. The cabin was old.
Light flared and drew her closer like a moth. Within minutes, heat from the blaze seeped around the room. She shrugged off her pack and jacket and set them on a small wooden table big enough for two. He tossed his pack in the corner and stripped down to his Henley but kept his hat on.
She took an inventory of the room. It didn’t take long. Besides the table, an oversized twin bed took up one corner and a rudimentary kitchen another. She looked for a door leading to a bathroom but saw none. Neither did she see a faucet over the sink.
Still, a cabin with no water or bathroom was a sight better than no cabin at all, and she was thankful Bennett hadn’t forced her to sleep in their lean-to.
“You hungry?” His voice rumbled from where he was squatting in front of the now-roaring fire.
Her stomach audibly awakened on cue. “Starving.”
He got out a pot and pulled down three cans. She moved close enough to see two were chili and one was dog food. She hoped she rated the chili.
“There’s a kerosene lamp next to the bed and matches in the drawer.” He opened the two cans of chili and dumped the contents into the pot and lit a two-burner camp stove. The can of dog food went into a silver doggy dish. Jack London pranced in anticipation at his side and attacked the dish as soon as it hit the floor.
She managed to light the lamp on the second try and set it on the table, moving her pack next to his. While he stirred, she drew a chair closer to the fire and unlaced her boots. Blood glued her sock to her heel, and a curse escaped when she ripped the sock off. The second was even worse, and she fought the sting of tears.
He knelt in front of her and took her left foot in both his hands. “Let me guess: you wore new hiking boots.”
“I bought nearly everything new for this trip. I don’t have a selection of fire starters or hatchets hanging around, either.”
Still holding her foot, he rocked back on his heels. “You spent a lot of money to get me alone.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Was he aware he was running his thumb up and down her arch in a near caress? Abruptly he dropped her foot and rose to rummage through a cabinet. He returned with a first-aid kit, cleaned her blisters, and applied an antibacterial gel. “I’ll put something over it tomorrow for the hike out. Chili should be hot.”
He doled out two bowls and set them on the table along with bottled waters. She took a bite and moaned. Over canned chili, for goodness’ sake. But after the hike and the stress and worry over spending a night outside, sitting in a cozy cabin eating chili was beyond her expectations.
The crackle of the fire made conversation unnecessary. The moment was surprisingly comfortable. She gestured around them. “Did you build this cabin?”
“No. If I had, I would have raised the ceiling a good five feet. I got snowed in for five days a few years ago and nearly lost my mind.”
“Are you claustrophobic?”
“Not really, but this place reminds me of the caves in Afghanistan and gave me bad dreams. No escape.” He put his head down and concentrated on scraping the last of the chili out of his bowl.
Questions about Bennett, not Noah, burned to escape. Noah had been killed. Darren fought to keep PTSD from destroying his life. It was becoming clear Bennett hadn’t escaped unscathed. Maybe he was better at dealing with his issues or hiding them, but she could sense them nonetheless.
“If not you, then who built the cabin?” She steered away from the more personal questions.
“Don’t know exactly, but the Dismal Swamp was a path to freedom for runaway slaves. A man could lose himself here for months. Back then, it was bigger, of course. Bleaker. Could be this cabin was built by former slaves or as a hideout or maybe a stop on the Underground Railroad.”
She swept her gaze around the room, her perception altered with his brief explanation. “It’s in good shape for being built so long ago.”
“I overhauled it when I bought the land. Thought about moving it somewhere more convenient, but … I don’t know. Didn’t seem right somehow.” He shrugged, sat back in his chair, and fiddled with his spoon.
She closed her eyes and stretched her other senses, her imagination taking flight. History was steeped into the logs. What joy and tragedy had the cabin seen?
“It’s so isolated out here. Imagine a wanderer, lost and alone, smelling chimney smoke. It must have seemed a mirage. Salvation.”
As the silence lengthened, she popped her eyes open. He stared at her, his expression an enigma, but the firelight made his eyes dance.
“Salvation,” he murmured.
Whimsy inherited from her mother bubbled up, nurtured through the multitude of books she’d read. It was a trait she’d squashed her entire life and thought dead and buried since Noah had been killed. She’d needed to be practical for Ben’s sake. But in the middle of nowhere, cozy in a cabin with Bennett Caldwell, a sense of magic stripped away reality.
“This cabin gave people hope and life. Can’t you feel it?”
Chapter 8
Past
Noah,
I can’t believe you can come! You’re probably going to regret it, though. I’ve heard the commencement speaker this year is bo-ring. Although I should warn you … I’ve shaved my head and gotten a nose ring and neck tattoo. Corporate America will appreciate that, right? Actually, my mom bought me a pantsuit for interviews and it must have worked, because I have two amazin
g job offers! We can discuss later. Can’t wait to see you …
Harper
Harper adjusted her graduation cap, tilting it jauntily to the side. Whoever had invented the flat-topped hats obviously didn’t have long hair in mind. The tassel swung in front of her eyes, the color designating her honors status.
Her mom pushed into Harper’s dorm room holding two coffees and a paper bag. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted a bagel or donut, so I got one of each.” She met Harper’s eyes in the mirror.
“On a scale of one to ten, how dorky do I look?” Harper smiled and flapped the sleeves of her black graduation gown like a bat.
Her mom’s smile was watery and her voice choked. “I’m so proud of you, Harper Lee.”
Answering tears sprang to Harper’s eyes. She hugged her mom, hiding her face in her mom’s shoulder. “I love you, but please don’t call me that in front of my friends.”
Her mom’s body shook with laughter. “Oops. I forgot.”
Harper pulled back and took one of the coffees, sipping the strong brew. She would need it to get through the marathon ceremony. Once it was over, she would be free and let loose on the world. Trouble was she was standing at a crossroads with no clear vision of what lay ahead.
“Have you heard from Noah?”
“Not since last night. I hope he made his connecting flight.” She checked the time. “Ten more minutes and we’ll have to leave or I’ll be late lining up and you won’t get a seat.”
They ate, Harper taking the donut and her mom eating the bagel. Finally, Harper brushed her hands together. “We’ll have to go without him.”
On the walk from her dorm to the arena where she’d be recognized as part of the graduating class of the University of North Carolina, she worried over Noah. She’d never been the kind of girl who dreamed of a Prince Charming. In fact, family history taught her that men were not to be depended on.
Her father hadn’t even sent a card after she’d written to tell him she was graduating with dual degrees. Silence was standard operating procedure when it came to him.
But Noah was shattering her expectations. She’d been shocked to hear from him after their week together. It had been fun and lighthearted and she’d liked him—a lot—but the practical side of her hadn’t expected anything but the kiss he’d given her the last evening before he’d headed back to Virginia Beach.
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