Meredith clung to the broad shoulders and allowed her heart and soul and mind to take flight.
And it was very strange . . . Even with her entire being focused on the man kissing her so passionately, somewhere deep inside was a kind of knowing. An awareness that Benjamin’s arms weren’t the only ones wrapped around her, holding her as though they would never let go.
Forty-Four
You’ve the constitution of an ox.” Ben groaned up the last few feet of the mountainside and collapsed alongside his old friend Cade Beringer. “What do you feed yourself these days? Steel shavings?”
“Nothing so exotic.” Laughing at him, Cade leaned back on his elbows and breathed in the hot June air as though it was as cool and clear as a mountain spring. “Just years of tramping about. If you’d enjoy a bit more of God’s creation in the raw, instead of looking once a day through a window in one of your hotel offices, you wouldn’t be wheezing like a broken-down plug of a horse.” He easily avoided Ben’s tired swipe. “How many hotels you own now anyway?”
“Six.” The seventh would have been Poplar Springs, but Ben closed his mind against the residual grief. “If I didn’t spend my time slaving in my offices, there wouldn’t be any money to build more hotels with grounds to landscape. I’d have no reason to hire you then, would I? You wouldn’t be able to enjoy all the comforts of a new hotel for a couple of months while you created beautiful surroundings. You’d just spend years tramping through these mountains without a breath of luxury. Could you survive on nuts and berries, my friend?”
“Indefinitely. Take a look around. See that dead elm over there with the cluster of mushrooms? Those are morels—‘merkles’ to some folk. Good eating. Then there’s jack-in-the-pulpit. Arisaema triphyllum if you want the Latin classification. Plant itself is poisonous, but the bulb’s not bad if you boil it. That’s what the Indians did. And did you know that—”
“All right. I concede!” Ben studied the relaxed man beside him. He hadn’t seen Cade for almost two years, but his friend hadn’t changed much. In some ways it was as though they’d seen each other yesterday. Cade Beringer was an easy man to like. “If I didn’t know better—and you weren’t sporting that tawny lion’s mane of yours—I’d swear you were an Indian yourself, your skin’s so brown.”
“Except for my eyes. Last time I read up on it, indigenous North American tribes suffered from a dearth of green eyes.”
“Ah yes. How could I forget your eyes? ‘Greener than her favorite pair of jade earrings’—wasn’t that how the sweet young lady described them two years ago? You remember, don’t you? She tracked you down all over the resort grounds, no matter how hard you tried to hide.” Ben chuckled when Cade groaned and covered his face with his arm. “Too bad it was my hotel, instead of a forest, hmm? You might have succeeded in losing her.”
“She was a regular little Delilah, wasn’t she?” Cade shifted, lying back to study the sky. “Never did understand what she saw in a man like me. No matter how many times I explained that I was only interested in the landscape, she seemed to think I could be persuaded . . . otherwise.”
Ben glanced at him. “I always wondered how you finally fended her off.”
“I invited her to spend the day with me. It, ah, happened to be the day I spent hauling two dozen loads of manure in to prepare the ground for all those flower beds you wanted.” A sheepish smile flashed across the sun-browned face. “I hadn’t known genteel ladies knew those kinds of words. Last thing I saw of Miss Genevieve Mayfield was her back. Her bustle was twitching like the tail of a wet cat.”
They both laughed, then settled into the sun-baked meadow grass, hands behind their heads. Bees droned among the purple clover, and a pair of jays in the trees below filled the air with rusty-hinge warbles. Heat rose in grass-scented waves, imbuing the air with a soporific potion more seductive than a narcotic.
For the first time in weeks, Ben felt his muscles softening, his nerves unraveling one at the time, until the sharp-edged memories dissolved from his brain like hot wax. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to get away. To . . . heal.
“Thanks, Cade,” he murmured after a while, his voice drowsy.
“My pleasure.” Cade stretched like the sleeping lion Ben had compared him to, his own voice sounding as drugged as Ben’s. “To my way of thinking, nothing refreshes the soul quite like being still and resting in God’s presence.”
“Don’t know about God’s presence, but I have needed the quiet.” His hand combed through the prickly grass. “These past weeks have been pretty bad.”
“I thought you looked a bit drawn when you picked me up at the train station yesterday. Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“No problem.” There was a short pause. “Want to talk to the Lord about it?”
Restless suddenly, Ben jackknifed to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his knees. Cade had strolled into the Excelsior early that morning. The summer season was in full swing, every room booked through September. Guests filled the lobby, the hallways, the dining room; their carriages and curricles and roadsters choked the once peaceful streets.
Normally Ben thrived in the crackling busyness of tourist season. Yet Cade had appraised him in a single look, and before Ben quite figured out that he’d been outmaneuvered, they were headed south on the Valley Pike. Cade turned the buggy westward, not stopping until they reached the base of Little North Mountain. Then they’d hiked to this grassy knob overlooking the hazy Valley below.
No human sounds other than their voices stirred the air. No clattering typewriters, no ringing bells. No steam whistles or factory whistles, no constant interruptions by streams of guests, no staff members watching him. Waiting.
“Someone asked me a couple of months ago if I ever prayed.” Ben turned his head sideways, measuring Cade’s expression. “I told her I hadn’t talked to God in years. But I’ll confess to you, Cade . . . lately I’ve been wondering about it.”
“Wondering’s good. Do a lot of it myself.”
Ben emitted a rude sound. “I’ve known a fair amount of religious folks in my thirty-odd years, from pious ministers praying pontifical blessings over meals to”—Meredith’s image blasted away his state of somnolence—“a woman who, near as I can figure it, first decides what she wants, then asks God to arrange it.”
“A common human mistake.” Cade’s voice was peaceful. “Jesus did tell us, after all, to ask whatever we would, and He promised to grant it. Trouble is, what Jesus was talking about, and what His disciples heard—what we hear nineteen hundred years later—are two different things.”
“Not in the mood for preaching, Cade.”
“Sorry. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”
Ben plucked a nearby flower and began tearing the petals off, one by one. He’d known Cade for going on six years now. Had known from their first meeting that this man was the most devout Christian he had ever met, in spite of the fact that Cade seldom attended a formal church service. Yet Cade never put a fellow’s teeth on edge about his faith. He sprinkled references to God and Jesus through his conversations so naturally it was impossible to take offense—mainly, Ben realized as he chewed on it, because Cade was simply sharing from his heart. Not trying to badger or grandstand.
If Ben were ever inclined to have a serious conversation about God with anyone besides Hominy, he reckoned it would be with Cade Beringer.
He found himself wondering why. They had little in common other than their mutual love for the mountains and the pleasure of occasionally working together. Baffled, he studied Cade. With minimal effort this seemingly easygoing man had been able to entice Ben to abandon a mound of paperwork and a day’s worth of appointments and accompany him on a vigorous hike.
How had it happened?
Might be prudent, Ben decided, to remember that Cade’s easygoing personality also housed an indomitable will.
“I don’t know what I’m doing up here,” he admitted out loud.
“I’ll be up half the night, catching up on all the work I left behind. I was supposed to dine with the New York Steubens.” If Cade could be persuaded not to linger up here, Ben might still return in time to attend a musicale in the park at ten with a party of guests from—was it North Carolina or New Jersey? He was having difficulty keeping up these days without an office manager. “I must be crazy,” he said. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”
“Oh, I imagine if you’d be honest with yourself, you’d figure it out.” Cade rose to his feet. “Think about it a bit, why don’t you? I spotted a stand of timber a little way back down the hillside that I’d like to check out. I’ll see you in a bit.”
He gathered up his knapsack and loped off.
Ben shook his head in disbelief. Cade Beringer was almost as much of a contradiction as Meredith. With his lean-muscled body and inexhaustible stamina, the man looked like he could go a dozen rounds in the ring with a prizefighter and win. But Cade Beringer was—a botanist. A botanist, a biologist, and a landscape designer. He was also a woodsman as at home in these mountains as Ben was hosting a formal dinner for two hundred or addressing the chamber of commerce in Richmond.
People. Any man who claimed to have insight into their convoluted behavior was destined for humiliation. Human beings were nothing but a mass of contradictions. How in blue blazes was one supposed to understand God, when it was impossible to fathom the quirks of the human condition?
Meredith, for instance. Ben rolled to his feet as well and began prowling the rocky, tree-choked hillside. He hadn’t seen her in two weeks. She’d fled to Sinclair Run, needing, Ben knew, to sort things through. He’d let her go. If Meredith wouldn’t return his love freely, there was little to be gained by forcing her to stay. She might have stolen his heart. He was fighting not to lose what remained of his mind.
But he would like to have had that talk with Jacob Sinclair. That old tin cookie cutter in her jewelry chest continued to tantalize his thoughts. What had Meredith called it, her heartwood chest? Whatever, the cookie cutter’s incongruous presence in a chest designed to house heirloom jewelry spoke of a puzzle, one Ben would risk a lifetime trying to solve. If Meredith ever allowed him the opportunity.
She had written him twice, short notes that said little but revealed a lot. She was driving her sister Leah to distraction and her teetotaler father to drink. She’d paid a couple of visits to friends, driven up to Tom’s Brook to her sister Garnet’s, but she missed her job. The excitement of the season. She missed the hotel and Lowell and Mrs. Biggs. Gaspar’s cooking. The staff.
She missed Ben. He knew it, simply by the conspicuous absence of any mention of his name in those letters. But she was either too uncertain, or too contrary, to admit it. Ben gave a derisive snort. How many times over these two weeks had he himself risked the words? The letters he’d composed in reply reeked of avuncular affection. Friendly banter. Sprinkled with a word here and there of honest feeling, enough to blunt the jab of his conscience. In spite of admitting to himself months earlier that he was in love with her, he’d never given Meredith the words.
Why should he risk a declaration when Meredith couldn’t even confess that she missed him?
Ever since he’d met her, she had displayed a propensity for hurling herself into affairs of the heart. Despite the undeniable passion between them, and a renewed sense of loyalty, complete trust was proving to be as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp.
She might never trust him enough to give him her heart.
That’s it, Walker. Why not at least admit it to yourself, up here all alone in the sanctity of this unspoiled mountain, where you’ve nobody to face but yourself.
And God.
Cade’s soft suggestion insinuated itself into his mind, like a soft breeze whispering past his ear. “Want to talk to the Lord about it?”
All right. Certainly, by all means . . . God, I know You’re up here, and I suppose I even know You’re listening. But since I don’t have a hair of a notion what it is I’m supposed to talk to You about, You’re going to have to be a little more obvious about communicating Your efforts in my behalf.
For his first truly honest prayer, it wasn’t much. But the elusive uncertainties mired deep inside his spirit seemed to lift, along with his mood.
Ben kicked a stone, idly following its path as it sailed into a clump of boulders rising from the side of the mountain. Pretty fair kick, he thought with a self-satisfied tickle of pleasure.
Far away he heard the stone rattling and rolling among the boulders. Then he heard the faint sound of a resonant splash. Water? Cade hadn’t mentioned any runs, and they certainly hadn’t passed any on the hike up.
Ben was moving before the thought completed itself in his head. He scrambled through underbrush and over boulders, scraping his hands, his hiking boots slipping on moss and lichen.
What he discovered was—a miracle.
“Cade! Hey, Cade! Get up here, man!”
Gurgling sluggishly, a spring of water bubbled to the surface of a small pool scarcely two feet in diameter. Ben dropped to his haunches and scooped up a handful of the cool liquid. No odor—wasn’t a sulfur spring then. He took a cautious sip, and the sweet-tart bite of it ran through him like a lightning bolt.
“Ben! Where are you?” Cade called. Then, “Never mind, I see the tracks.”
A moment later his lithe form dropped down next to Ben. “A spring.” A satisfied smile filled his face. “Thank You, Lord. ‘There shall come water out of it, that the people may drink.’ ”
He stretched out along the slab of rock that formed a natural stone enclosure and ducked his face into the gently stirring surface of the pool. When he lifted his head, then turned dripping to Ben, the unfettered joy radiated from him like the glow of a hundred suns. “Mineral, not a hot spring,” he said. “Think it’s alum, but it could be chalybeate. You’ll need to have it professionally analyzed.” He swiped dripping hair away from his forehead. “The land’s for sale, in case you’re interested.”
Ben barely heard. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, then plunged his arm into the pool all the way up to his armpit. “It’s deep, but there’s enough movement against my fingers . . . Cade, do you think there’s more than one? I mean, most of the spa resorts have as many as four spring houses, some of them with four different types of water.” Like the land Preston Clarke had gobbled up.
“Let’s explore a bit, all right? See what other pearls of great price we can unearth.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors, if I recall my—wait a moment. You knew, didn’t you?” Ben watched Cade’s deep green eyes crinkle at the corners. “That’s why you brought me up here.”
“Passed through here last summer. There were signs, yes. I found an old Indian trail that at times veered off in erratic directions. Could have been to the site of a spring. I didn’t have time to pursue it but thought it worth a return trip.” He drank some of the water, then bounded to his feet. “I camped in that meadow halfway up the mountain, and one evening noticed a buck pawing a spot of earth, then licking it. Like I said, I didn’t have time to pursue it, but I made a note of the spot.”
“Why’d you wait to tell me? Where’s the spot?”
“On the edge of the meadow, near that stand of timber. You could build a springhouse without having to cut down any trees, I imagine.”
Like the tiny spring bubbling at his feet, a sense of wonder gushed upward through Ben, leaving him shaken. “My God,” he whispered, reverently. “He . . . I never actually expected Him to answer. Not like this. Not—with this.” His wet fingers curled into a fist, and he pressed it against his head. “Cade, I—” The words stuck in his throat.
“It’s all right. I understand.” Cade wrapped an arm about Ben’s shoulder in an unselfconscious hug. “You had that talk with the Lord, didn’t you?”
“Uh, well, yes, I suppose I did.” He stared down at the tiny pool of water.
“Enjoy the moment. They don’t always occur this dramatical
ly.” After giving him an affectionate whack between his shoulder blades, Cade stepped back. “You hold on to the memory, my friend. It will sustain you through the times when you’d swear you were talking to nothing but thin air. Come on now. Let’s go see what other gifts the Lord wants to delight you with today.”
By the time the sun was easing toward the ragged tops of the mountains, Cade and Ben—mostly Cade, Ben cheerfully admitted—discovered a total of four springs. Head spinning with plans, he would have spent the night camping under the stars, except he knew Hominy would set out with a search party if Ben didn’t return before long.
“You said you know the owner?” he asked Cade as they hiked back down to the base of the mountain.
“I do,” Cade said without turning. He was leading the way through a precipitous stretch of steep trail, where both men needed to watch their step.
“And they’re willing to sell?” Ben stepped on a rock that rolled beneath his boot. He wobbled sideways, caught himself, and decided he needed to concentrate more on his footing than the plans whirling through his head. “I’ll meet their price. Won’t even try to negotiate. Do they know about the springs?”
“Not until this afternoon. And thanks for being willing to meet my price. It isn’t inflated, I promise.”
“What? You own it?”
Without thinking Ben lengthened his stride, determined to reach the man some dozen paces below him. He leaped with careless haste onto a flat boulder, his intent to waylay Cade with a shortcut. Instead his weight threw the unstable boulder off balance. It tilted, pitching Ben sideways. His leg buckled beneath him, and he fell in an ungainly welter of flailing arms. His left ankle slid beneath the protruding lip of the boulder.
The last thing Ben felt was a sword thrust of pain. The last thing he heard was the sickening crunch of his ankle bone as it snapped.
Then he passed out.
Forty-Five
Sinclair Run
Shenandoah Home (Sinclair Legacy Book 1) Page 37