A SEAL's Triumph

by Cora Seton

  “You’re glowing,” Lizette said when she stopped by several hours later during a break from working at the manor.

  “I love any kind of teaching,” Nora admitted. “Even when it’s as open-ended and unstructured as this. I’m an information junkie and love to share everything I learn.”

  “Clay said someday you’ll reopen the one-room schoolhouse across Pittance Creek and teach the Base Camp kids there.” Lizette’s brows tugged together. “You won’t be overwhelmed by bad memories if you do that?”

  Nora shook her head. “Sue said she’ll help me purge it of any bad energy left over from that day. I trust her to be able to do that. Besides, I think the process of cleaning it up, restoring it, giving it a new coat of paint—and knowing all the children I’ll teach there—will erase anything that happened before.”

  She looked forward to those days, although she was content to enjoy her time with Constance and Sue now. When she began teaching Base Camp’s children, she wouldn’t have as much time to work on curriculum. She had decided not to worry about that yet. She would make the most of each stage as it happened. She and Clay were talking about trying for another child later this year, to keep their children close in age. They’d be consumed with diapers and strollers and backpack carriers for several years yet. Time enough for everything else later.

  “I’m so happy you met Clay here and the two of you decided to stay. All those years he was away with the Navy, I wasn’t sure if he’d ever come home.” Lizette looked at her husband and son. “It means more to Dell than I can say that Clay is working and going to school with him. My husband is a changed man, content for the first time in his life.”

  “I’m glad we’re here, too. I miss my mom.” Nora swallowed hard, emotion overcoming her for a moment. She knew her mother would be proud of everything she’d done and would want her to be among people who loved her. “Having you and Dell here, your kids—and Sue, too—makes me feel like I have a real family again.”

  Lizette hugged her, wrapping her arms around Constance in her backpack carrier, too. “We love you like one of our own.”

  “I appreciate that.” Nora hugged her back, something she was becoming far more comfortable doing. For years she’d been much too standoffish. It had been a way to keep people at bay who could hurt her by leaving, like her father had when she was young and her mother had when she lost her battle with cancer. Now she didn’t have to hold back. The people here gave their love and approval freely, and that love filled her up enough to brave any small chance of rejection elsewhere.

  “Here come some more people.” Lizette let her go. “I’ll take this batch. You take a break.”

  “My grandsons would like to see a tiny house,” a white-haired woman accompanying two teenaged boys said.

  “Right this way,” Lizette said.

  Nora watched them go, then turned to find Clay smiling at her as a cluster of people bent over the pamphlets and house plans spread on the counter of the booth.

  “Love you,” he mouthed at her.

  “Love you, too.”

  “How is it going in the greenhouses?” Harris asked when Samantha stopped by with a sandwich to tide him through the lunch hour. No one was going to get a lunch break, given how many people were still flowing through Base Camp. Even now he had a ring of expectant onlookers waiting for him to start his demonstration again. As the only blacksmith, he didn’t have anyone to fill in for him while he took a break, but Sam had announced to the crowd when she arrived that he was going to take five minutes to eat.

  “Busy, busy, busy,” she said, going up on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his cheek. “But with Boone and Leslie to help, I was able to get away for a minute.”

  Harris peeked into the fabric sling she wore. “Evan’s asleep?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. He was getting pretty fussy for a while, but he’s out like a light now.” She adjusted the sling. At eight months old, he was getting heavy for her to carry like this, but Harris couldn’t take over while he was working the forge. He’d have to do double duty tomorrow to make up for it, he decided happily. He loved spending time with his son, and everyone at Base Camp had decided to take a rest day tomorrow.

  “I’ve got to run. See you later.” With another quick kiss, Samantha pushed her way through the throng that had gathered in the last few minutes and headed in the direction of their tiny house.

  “Got your sandwich?” Alan Bennison asked, edging his way close in the crowd. He was one of the new inhabitants of Base Camp and had joined them three or so months ago. This wasn’t the first time he’d sought out Harris.

  Harris held up the remnants of it. “Yep.” He finished it off in a couple of bites and moved to take up his tools again.

  “Was wondering if I could take a shot at that sometime,” Alan continued, gesturing to the forge. An earnest man from Georgia, he usually tended to hang back when there was a crowd.

  Harris paused, ready to start the spiel he’d given about his craft a dozen times already. “Sure. Any time.”

  “I’ve always been interested in learning the farrier trade,” Alan explained. “Just never had the opportunity.”

  Harris had wondered when the younger man would get up the courage to ask. His curiosity about the forge was unmistakeable. “I’m spending tomorrow with the family, but any other time,” he told him. “Would be glad of the company.”

  “Great.” Alan looked over his shoulder. “Better get back to it. I’m on cleanup duty.”

  “See you later.” Harris watched him go. There had been a time in his life when friendships were difficult and he’d thought himself consigned to a solitary, watchful existence, forever on the outside looking in. That lonely feeling was long gone. He belonged here at Base Camp in a way he’d never felt before. He had roots for the first time in his life. A home of his own, tiny as it was. A wife and child he adored.

  No hurricane or anything else could wash that away.

  He turned to the crowd. “How many of you have worked with metal before?”

  Samantha touched the iron door-knocker Harris had made for their tiny house before turning the handle and opening the front door. It was time to put Evan down in his crib and give her back a rest. She had reluctantly kept her home off the tiny house tour, knowing she’d need a break at some point. It was too bad Harris’s beautiful iron cabinet and drawer pulls—and the rest of the personal touches he’d added to their home—wouldn’t be seen by the crowds thronging Base Camp, but the open house was meant to be a yearly affair, and Harris had a whole display of his work by his forge.

  She was greeted at the door by the yip of their new puppy, Emma, a golden retriever Harris had surprised her with just a few weeks ago. “Hush, Emma!” she said. “Evan’s sleeping!”

  “Not fair that Curtis stole our dog” was all her husband had said as he placed the squirming ball of fluffy fur in her eagerly outstretched hands. He’d been smiling, though. Daisy remained faithful to Curtis but was content with head scratches and belly rubs from any of them.

  Emma wagged her tail so hard Sam worried it would fall off, but the puppy seemed to understand her words and didn’t bark again.

  After laying Evan in his crib, she picked up Emma, showering kisses on her furry head as she moved silently around her small home on stocking feet, touching the metal handles Harris had forged into flowers and herbs to honor her love of gardening. She loved that his work was so tactile; every time her fingers slipped across the metal she felt connected to her husband. He’d worked hard to tailor their home to suit her, and she’d found a contentment here she hadn’t known in years.

  She had to admit it was ironic to find herself living in a small space after escaping the Evermobile, the large van she’d driven for her parents’ band for years, but she didn’t mind. She was in and out of her friends’ houses constantly, up at the manor to help with guests, in the bunkhouse for shared meals, meetings and get-togethers.

  And besides, she spent most of her day in the
extensive greenhouses. They had six of them now, and besides the crops and gardens they’d planted outside and the traditionally potted plants in several of the greenhouses, they’d now filled two with a hydroponic system she hoped would provide plenty of fresh vegetables through the winter. They’d even started a small orchard in the last greenhouse, hoping to extend their growing season and include fruit that usually required a more southern setting to produce.

  After pouring herself a tall glass of water, Samantha sat down on the sofa with the puppy and put her feet up, content to rest while her baby did and glad that Byron had followed through with his promise to pop in earlier and give Emma a good long run around Base Camp to tire her out. The puppy flopped down beside her, heaving a happy sigh. Samantha knew just how she felt. There would be plenty to do later.

  For now she’d rest and relax.

  “Croquet?” Jericho couldn’t hide his surprise, but his cousin, Donovan, just laughed at him.

  “They’ll have to think of something different for the winter, but for now it’s croquet. You should see them going at it; you’d think the Stanley Cup was at stake.”

  Jericho wasn’t sure he could picture his mom and dad playing croquet against Aunt Patty and Uncle Chris, but the important thing was that they were socializing at all. Chris and Patty had been through a stint in a treatment program and had been sober ever since.

  “I’m glad they’re doing so well,” he told Donovan.

  “I’m glad we’re all happy these days. I hope Jacob and Wade are good friends.”

  “I’m sure they will be.” Donovan, his wife and seventeen-month-old baby had already been to visit them several times, and he, Savannah and Jacob had returned the favor. The baby boys played together as much as any toddlers could be expected to. Jericho hadn’t thought it possible he’d ever be part of such a happy family and was grateful to Donovan for how open he’d been about re-establishing ties between the branches of the Cooks.

  “You’ve got more interested people coming,” Donovan said, pointing to a knot of visitors making their way toward the wind turbines. “I’ll let you go for now but look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Say goodbye to Jacob and Jericho,” Donovan told his son.

  “Bye!” Wade crowed.

  “Bye!” Jacob echoed.

  Donovan headed to where his wife, Jackie, was talking to Savannah. He looked forward to the big family gathering his parents were hosting tomorrow. His sister, who’d also joined a twelve-step program, and her family would be there as well as Donovan, Jackie, Wade, Pam and Chris. It would be like old times—except much better. These days, food was the star of the show rather than alcohol, and no children were shunted to the side.

  He was grateful for how Savannah had forgiven his parents and sister for their prior behavior and greeted them now without hesitation, embracing family life wholeheartedly. Her parents had softened, too—a bit. He wasn’t sure they’d ever fully understand their daughter’s choices, but they were doing their best.

  Meanwhile, he had his business to focus on. Savannah’s meeting with Simon Brashear at her audition in California had opened a world of possibilities for him. Sunset Group had hired him as a consultant in their quest to become carbon neutral, and as soon as Fulsom had gotten wind of it, he’d made his own offer of funding so Jericho could take the business large. Fulsom’s money had allowed Jericho to bring a number of other energy consultants onboard, and business was booming. When Anders made the transition to running Hansen Energy next year, he knew his friend would make an offer to bring him on board. They were still discussing the best way to do this, but Jericho knew that with a client the size of Hansen Energy in his pocket, he could write his own ticket and expand in multiple ways.

  One step at a time, though, he reminded himself. Today he would introduce a few dozen people to the basic concepts of green energy. Tomorrow he’d spend the day with his wife, baby and extended family. He had purpose and was loved.

  What more could a man want?

  “Bye,” Savannah said, helping Jacob wave to his cousin as Donovan and Jackie carried Wade away. With a sigh, she settled Jacob more firmly in her arms, his legs clinging to her waist as she began to walk to where Jericho was chatting with a group of interested people. “I’m taking a break,” she said to him as she passed. “Be back in a half hour.”

  Jericho stopped what he was doing, as he always did, and came to kiss her and Jacob. “Nap time?”

  “You got it.” She kissed him back, breathing in the familiar scent of her husband. Jericho always laughed at her when she did that, but to her it was the scent of comfort, love and belonging, and she wouldn’t give it up.

  “See you at dinner.”

  “You bet.” She kept going and ducked into her tiny house with a sigh of relief. As usual, Jacob had other ideas about nap time, especially because he could hear so many voices outside their home, but he fell asleep at last in his crib, and she climbed up to the loft and pulled her electronic keyboard onto her lap. With earbuds in, she could play without waking Jacob and work on the song she’d been writing these past few days. Once she’d rediscovered her love of singing last year, she’d begun to catch herself humming snatches of tunes and bits of melodies and had started to write them down. It had been some time before she reached the point where she was willing to share her efforts with anyone. When Samantha had offered to put her in touch with her parents, who were part of the famous cover band Deader Than Ever, she firmly said no, but one of the new Base Camp recruits, Martina Lovatt, turned out to be a backup singer for several garage bands and was familiar with the process of cutting a demo and even selling music directly online. She had helped Savannah secure studio time locally, and her folk-inspired children’s album was making a tiny stream of income.

  Savannah was so delighted anyone was listening to her at all, she pocketed her tiny paychecks with more glee than she could have imagined doing if she’d cut a classical piano album, although she wasn’t ruling out anything at this point. When she had filled out her current melody and whisper-sung it into her phone to send to Martina to listen to, she lay back on the pillows and let herself daydream about the years to come.

  Tomorrow, when they were surrounded by Jericho’s family—hers now, too—she would break the news about her new pregnancy, knowing this time Jericho would be overjoyed. When they got home from the Cook family picnic, she’d announce her pregnancy to everyone at Base Camp and knew they’d be just as happy.

  She’d never expected what would come about when she first arrived at Westfield two years ago, and she wouldn’t change a thing—not even the sad parts, knowing how much she’d learned and grown along the way.

  She’d been daring the night she seduced Jericho into making love to her in the Russells’ fancy bathroom two years ago, and she meant to be daring for the rest of her life. Her days would be full of music and children. Her nights spent in her husband’s arms.

  Nothing could be better than that.

  “This is it, folks, the test-kitchen and stage set for my SEALs Making Meals show.” Kai ushered a group of people into the bunkhouse’s new wing. It had been added on last fall to the original building to make cooking for a crowd easier as well as for filming his hit show. As Avery had once predicted, the minute he started airing episodes, streaming services fell all over themselves to option them, and now he could afford the production quality of a traditionally produced show like the one he’d walked away from during his first year here. Byron, who was working his way up in the business quickly, still helped out, taking a producer role as well as directing most of the episodes. Avery liked to be involved, too, as a recurring cohost who didn’t know much about cooking but loved to learn. The episodes she appeared in were some of his most popular ones.

  “How do you get your ideas for your recipes?” a young woman asked.

  “I look at what’s available in the garden or greenhouse or my cold storage and work from there. It’s
fun to take three or four ingredients, put them in a search engine online and see what recipes come up. Once I get some inspiration, I veer off on my own tangents, adding herbs and spices and seeing what I can come up with.”

  “Are you going to publish another cookbook?” an older man asked.

  “Definitely. I’ll keep putting them out until no one is interested anymore. My next one takes its inspiration from the kinds of dishes pioneers to Montana would have cooked. They knew a lot about getting by with whatever they had on hand. I’ve taken their classic recipes and updated them for our tastes and ingredients.”

  “Sounds great!”

  “Are you going to do more episodes where you make your friends cook something for you?”

  Kai laughed. Those episodes were popular, too. “You bet. I’ve got Boone on tap for an upcoming show. I’m going to make him cook a bison lasagna.” In those shows, he handed his guest a recipe and gave a running commentary on their cooking skills as they attempted to follow it, allowing guests to call in and give advice, too. Those episodes were messy but a lot of fun.

  “Where’s your daughter?”

  “She should be here any minute. Wait—there she is!”

  Addison appeared with a yawning baby girl in her hands. “Can you take Felicity? I’m due at the manor. Some of the other women have been covering for me.”

  “Absolutely.” Kai took the baby to a chorus of “oohs” from his audience and gave Addison a quick kiss. “Knock them dead up there.”

  “I hope I can secure bookings for all of next year in one fell swoop,” she said, nuzzling Felicity one last time before she hurried away again.

  Named for Addison’s sister, Felicity was a precious little girl with red-gold hair and big eyes. At eight months old, she was one of the Contingent, as they’d named the group of babies that had come one after another last October. She was just beginning to pull herself upright and wobble on her feet before plunking down again and reverting to crawling everywhere. She was small but swift, as Addison always said, and her trilling little laugh elicited a surge of love in him every time he heard it.