River Rapture

by Vella Munn

  “I know that!” Just the same, Chas wasn’t the one trying to decide where shore and water separated. “Ah, what do I do now?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t have asked for this lesson. I don’t know what I’m doing,” she retorted again. She hated feeling so dependent on Chas’s instructions, but there was no denying that she was entirely in his hands as far as her safety was concerned.

  “I can’t argue with that. At least you’re honest about that. The worst pupil is one who won’t admit his ignorance. Okay,” he continued. “Since the idea behind this is to get this canoe moving, I’d suggest you use a straight power stroke. Got your left hand over the top of your paddle and the other at the end of the shaft? Good girl. Now pay attention. It isn’t complicated.”

  While Michon chewed on her lower lip in concentration, she struggled to follow Chas’s instructions to lean forward at the waist and extend her arms. She felt the water lapping at her lower hand as she punched the paddle blade into the water, but didn’t let that distract her. By using both arm and back muscles, she pulled the canoe forward. When the paddle was parallel with her hips she pulled it out of the water as Chas had directed.

  “That wasn’t so hard,” she exclaimed after a few more tries.

  “Piece of cake? Is that what you’re thinking? Wait until you’ve done that for eight hours and then try to get up the next morning. I just hope you’re limber, or your muscles are really going to be complaining.”

  “I won’t complain,” Michon said to the outline behind her in the dark.

  “Why?” The question was asked almost too sharply.

  Michon rose to the occasion. “Because I’m not a complainer. I never have been and I see no reason to begin now.” She didn’t try to explain that there’d always been something in her backbone that made her rise to every challenge and never admit it even when she was dangerously close to the end of her rope. It hadn’t happened many times in her life, but she felt confident that she wouldn’t lose her head in an emergency.

  “I like that in a woman,” Chas said. “I hope you can live up to your words.”

  Before Michon had time to respond to his challenge, Chas turned to teaching a new stroke, which he explained was used in quiet water when the canoeists needed a change of pace. That took longer for Michon to master, and if she hadn’t been so intent on what she was learning, she would have paid heed to the message her empty stomach was giving her. But Michon was caught up in her new skills, the power in her arms that sent the sleek canoe along its course. She felt the night air on her cheek, heard the deep rumble of the male voice behind her, sensed the movement of craft through water. She was supremely content, aware of nothing from the past, innocent of any concern regarding the future. The moment was enough.

  I’m alive, she thought as she extended her arms as far as she could without losing her balance and executed a bow sweep, turning the canoe sharply and cleanly to the left. I’m really alive.

  “This is fun!” she breathed, feeling secure because Chas’s mastered strokes made up for any weakness in her own. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed paddling a canoe when I was at summer camp. A canoe does everything you want it to. It’s like a well-trained horse.”

  “Were you at a river or lake?” Chas asked.

  “A lake. Why?”

  “Because a river is a totally different creature. The wind is always a factor here, especially when it’s being funneled into a canyon. And, don’t forget, in a river, you’re dealing with moving water. I’ve changed my mind. I want you in my canoe tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Michon managed, her thoughts rushing back to the fact that they were a man and a woman, and physical attraction was something she at least was aware of.

  “Because you aren’t that strong. And you need to learn a lot more about maneuvering in moving water. Harry or one of the boys should be able to handle a canoe alone, at least for the first day.”

  She felt deflated. “Oh. Well, thank you. I guess.”

  “I just wish you’d had the training the others have,” Chas said shortly. “I sure hope you can keep up.”

  “I will. I’m no quitter. I’ll pull my own weight,” Michon replied firmly, repeating her silent vow to maintain the group’s pace no matter what the cost to herself physically. She had something to prove to Chas—and to herself. The hour she’d just spent in the canoe had cemented her resolve. She was going to see this John Day trip to its completion! It had become a point of honor with her, proof that she was more, much more, than a mannequin putting in her eight hours at Chantilla.

  As they headed back to shore neither of them spoke. Chas gave her instructions on the proper way to bring a canoe to land and how to exit while the craft was still in the water. Despite her best effort, and despite the fact that Chas was kneeling in the sand holding onto the canoe, Michon misjudged the distance to shore and soaked her tennis shoes when she stepped out. She bit her lip, praying that he hadn’t noticed her misstep in the dark.

  “You’re squishing,” Chas observed. “Got your feet wet, did you?”

  “I’m fine!” Michon retorted in an effort to cover up her embarrassment. “I’m not complaining.”

  “I didn’t say anything about that, did I? I’m just making an observation. I suppose tennis shoes feel pretty foreign after wearing high heels all the time. I just hope you get a little more sure-footed before this is over.”

  Michon started to stalk away. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” she threw over her shoulder as she headed for the tantalizing smell of chili somewhere ahead in the dark.

  Strong arms around her waist stopped her. Michon felt herself being drawn back into that place of security and warmth she’d experienced earlier tonight, as Chas wrapped his arms securely around her middle, turned her, and drew her to his chest. “Don’t be mad,” he whispered. “I don’t like to fight.”

  “Neither do I,” she relented. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying so hard. I hate making mistakes.”

  Chas laughed, a rumbling sound that vibrated its way into Michon’s core. “It won’t be the last time you get your feet wet. It happens to me too.”

  “It does?” Michon could barely force out the question. Chas’s maleness was being transmitted to her throughout the length of her body, making her achingly aware of the fact that she was a woman and not a child. Did she dare put her arms around his neck? Could she stop herself?

  “Sure. That’s what makes tennis shoes perfect. They don’t take long to dry.”

  Michon shared Chas’s laugh. “So you’re human after all. That’s a relief.”

  Chas started walking toward the teenagers circled around an inviting campfire. His arm was wrapped loosely and yet possessively around Michon’s waist. “Yes, I’m human,” he said softly.

  Because there was no other comfortable place to put her own arm, Michon wrapped it around Chas’s waist, her fingers and palm recording the rock-hard feel of him beneath his clothes. She had to fight off the impulse to rest her head against him, to close her eyes, and let this very special man lead her where he willed. Inside she felt herself melting, relaxing. She’d never felt like this around any other man. Maybe it was no more than their surroundings that allowed her mind to block off everything except the deeply pleasant sensation of caring about, thinking of nothing except, a warm male body, a cool breeze, her primitive response to him.

  Someone had brought a guitar, and was playing it softly for the assembled teenagers. There was a mutter of conversation, the play of firelight against the dark and barren cliffs. To Michon these impressions added up to a perfect whole. Chas had his arm around her. He was allowing her to touch him. The night was magic. She would think of nothing else.

  Chapter Seven

  The stars were providing a silent but warm accompaniment to Michon’s thoughts as she lay in her sleeping bag and stared up at a sky uninterrupted by skyscrapers. Her throat felt slightly choked, as if tears might erupt if she allowed
her emotions to come through full-blown. She knew her emotions were no more complicated than appreciating a combination of the wilderness night, the occasional sound of night birds calling to each other, the low rumble of someone snoring from the boys’ side of the campfire, the soft whisper of two girls still talking.

  Michon blinked back her reaction and continued her observation of the night sky. She struggled to remember the names of the various constellations and, failing, tried to give names and shapes of her own to the unbelievably clear stars. The moon was three-quarters full, rich enough to make it possible for her to see the outlines of the bluffs and desert country around them.

  A tear squeezed out, but Michon ignored it. For years she’d responded to moments of emotional fullness with tears. Tonight was one of those times.

  Thank you, Chas, she mouthed. Thank you for giving me a few moments of yourself. She was all too aware that moments like they’d shared might not come again. She was also wise enough to enjoy them for what they were…isolated stretches of time to be savored but not mourned should they not be repeated.

  Was she falling in love? Michon didn’t have the answer to that question. If she had been eighteen she most likely would have replied yes, but in the years since she’d been a teenager, Michon had learned that the human heart was capable of producing the most complex emotions, none of which were incapable of being superseded. Today’s great love could become tomorrow’s memory. Trying to sort out the roots of those emotions usually led to a headache, tears in a pillow, and precious little else. She was old enough to know the wisdom of taking each day, each experience, as it came until the sum of those experiences was made clear to her. It was enough to know that she was supremely content to be around Chas, at the same time to be aware of his belief that emotions could be held in check.

  That was what he wanted. She would accept that.

  And if her heart was wounded in the process, that was the price she would have to pay. Heartache was an unavoidable human emotion. The alternative was to stay away from Chas. That was something she would not, could not, do.

  Michon fell asleep thinking about the meal they’d shared sitting side by side on a rock, with the blaze from the campfire warming their cheeks and drying her shoes.

  When the sounds of activity woke her, Michon realized that she had indeed slept through the night. She hadn’t expected that, not after a lifetime of sleeping on a soft, warm bed.

  “Let’s shake a leg,” Harry said as he stood over the jumble of girls still in their sleeping bags. “Remember what Chas said. We should be in the water in an hour if we’re going to reach our destination before the wind comes up.”

  Michon pulled on jeans and a wrinkled blouse while still in her sleeping bag and then set about directing the girls at their various chores. She pitched in by gathering the utensils and bowls needed for the quick breakfast of cereal and bananas and then supervised the making of enough sandwiches to feed a small army.

  Once she’d splashed cold water over her face, brushed her teeth, and run a brush quickly through her hair, Michon helped carry the expedition’s equipment down to where the canoes were being readied. The morning was still crisp despite the sun’s promise, but Michon was too active to feel chilled. After they had been placed in the water, each canoe was loaded with the large waterproof packs filled with the group’s belongings. When Chas was satisfied that everyone had a life vest, he placed a length of rope, a large sponge, and an old bleach bottle for a bailer in each canoe. “That’s what I call being prepared,” Harry observed. “I’ve never seen a canoe that stays completely dry. Something’s always being dripped in by the paddles.”

  Michon found it hard to believe that a group this size, especially one made up of eager but easily sidetracked teenagers, could go from sleeping to being ready to launch itself in an hour, but with Chas and Harry setting the pace, it was barely eight o’clock when the first of the canoes glided into the water. Michon took a moment to record the occasion with her camera. The lens caught sun glinting off water, long morning-shadows, a sleek craft cutting knifelike through the smooth surface.

  After she put her camera away Michon stood near Chas, feeling useless because she didn’t have the skill to push off a loaded canoe and settle into it without upsetting everything, especially while wearing a life vest. She felt both grateful and embarrassed as he held the wooden canoe’s gunwales firmly and directed her to step in, her weight squarely in the middle of the canoe. She barely suppressed a sigh of relief as she found her seat and waited for Chas to join her. At least she hadn’t gotten her shoes wet yet.

  Michon glanced around, grinning slightly in response to the excited looks on the students’ faces. Only Harry seemed serious, almost preoccupied.

  Chas dipped his paddle into the water and quickly moved to the front of the line of canoes. “We’ll be going under the Service Creek Bridge,” he called out. “Swing wide above the bridge. I’ll show you the best path around the supports.”

  Michon took a deep if somewhat shaky breath and turned back to say a silent good-bye to last night’s campsite, the last sign of civilization. The beach hadn’t been Grand Central Station, but at least the little Service Creek Store was within walking distance. Now—now she didn’t know what lay ahead. But Chas was with her. He was competent, in control. He didn’t have to say it. The way he carried himself was enough to make her feel secure.

  “There used to be a ferry here,” Chas said as they passed under the bridge. “If I remember right, in the early nineteen-hundreds the water was so high that mail had to be sent across in a coffee can rigged to the ferry cable. One of the old-timers told me that they hired an Indian to swim across the river to get the rig working.”

  “How do you know so much about the river?” Michon asked, shading her eyes in an effort to be on the lookout for any rapids that might be ahead of them.

  “Curiosity. I ask a lot of questions. It’s amazing what the old-timers around here will tell you if you give them half a chance. They don’t have many people to talk to.” Chas laughed. “Of course not everything they tell is the truth, but it certainly adds to the flavor of the area. Look, we’re going to reach some fast water once we get past the gauging station. It’s nothing we can’t handle, but I don’t want you to start squealing or anything like that.”

  Michon concentrated on timing her paddle strokes with Chas’s. “I’ll try not to squeal. It might help you to know that I haven’t squealed since I was thirteen. Ah, what do we do when we get to the fast water?”

  “Nervous? Don’t be. We’ll survive. I’m going to keep the canoe in the middle of the river. The current is fastest there, but if we hug the riverbank we might get hung up on a gravel bar. We’ll probably take on a little water here because of the haystacks, but that’s what the ladles and sponges are for.”

  Michon wanted to ask what Chas meant by a haystack, but her need to know how to handle her end of the canoe pushed the question aside. “What do I do with this when we’re in the rapids?” she asked, holding her paddle up in the air.

  “You could put it between your teeth, but it’d be more help if you just continue with the strokes you’ve been using,” Chas explained. “I’ll handle the fancy stuff. Just remember, the speed of the river determines our speed. I could slow our craft down and give you a greater sense of security but that’s a heck of a lot more work. Since we won’t have many obstacles to go around here, we might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  That’s easy for you to say, Michon thought but she held her tongue. If Chas was using the fast water ahead of them to test her, Michon was determined to do her best. She clamped her jaws together, took another look at the unrelenting landscape, and then stared ahead at the river pulling them along like a cable pulling a roller coaster up the initial climb. No matter how scared she might become, she wasn’t going to let Chas know.

  The canoe started to pick up speed. She could feel Chas sweeping them to the left, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the
river long enough to glance back at him. Her stomach lurched slightly as she became aware of how quickly the landscape was passing behind them. Michon gripped her paddle tighter, knuckles white, remembering only intermittently to dip the paddle into the water. Why should she? They were going quite fast enough, thank you!

  Then, almost abruptly, their pace slowed. Michon forced her hands to relax their grip and leaned back until she was once again sitting instead of kneeling. She took a grateful breath, waiting for her heart to stop pounding in her chest.

  “Nothing to it. Piece of cake, isn’t it?” Chas asked.

  “I didn’t squeal,” she pointed out when she could trust herself to talk. “Are there many more rapids like that?”

  “Enough. I noticed you weren’t doing much paddling. Was it your break time?”

  “Don’t,” Michon moaned, no longer interested in any kind of pretense. “I’ve never been in water like that. It—it takes a little getting used to.”

  “That’s nothing. Wait until you hit a class-three rapid.”

  “Oh,” was all Michon could manage.

  Chas laughed, a happy sound that mingled with the sound of the river. “Don’t worry. There aren’t any class-three rapids in our expedition. That doesn’t happen on the John Day unless there’s a flood. I’d like you to try one someday, though. It’s something that can’t be explained. You have to experience it.”

  “You would?” Chas’s casual statement warmed her.

  “I think you could work yourself up to that skill level. Of course you’d have to get more strength in your shoulders,” was all he would say.

  “Would you take me on one?” she pressed.

  “Wait a minute. I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. I’m talking about rapids with holes deep enough to swallow a canoe. I wouldn’t let you take that kind of risk unless I was sure you could handle it. Look, we’re going to be reaching the first checkpoint pretty soon, an island. The river is high now, so we’ll take the left channel. The last time I was here, the water was a lot higher than it is now. The higher a river is, the faster it moves. It doesn’t give people much time to react. One of the canoes capsized.”