DAREK COULDN’T HELP glancing at his watch.
“Tiger, you want to see the baby?” Ivy lay on the table, her stomach glistening with gel. She gripped Darek’s hand, the residue of worry in her eyes lingering despite her words to the contrary. Maybe she’d finally figured out how close he’d come to losing her, losing their baby, and she’d stop lecturing him on his hovering.
She gestured to Tiger, who sat in the chair, reading a book. “Come over here and take a look.”
“No.”
Darek frowned. For the past week, Tiger had seemed withdrawn, almost angry. “Tiger, your mom said to take a look —”
“I don’t wanna.”
When Tiger kept his eyes trained on his book, it lit a flame inside Darek. He glanced at Ivy to see if the words wounded her, but she watched Tiger with such an expression of gentleness that it tempered his fury.
Still, he wanted to march over, grab his son, make him —
“Do you want to know what the gender is?”
Darek glanced back to the ultrasound technician, a pretty girl with short brown hair, maybe in her twenties, wearing pink scrubs.
His wife raised an eyebrow, smiled at him. “Well?”
He shook his head. “I . . . I think I want to be surprised.”
Ivy squeezed his hand. “Then me too.”
The technician nodded and wiped Ivy’s skin with a towel.
As Darek helped Ivy sit up, she groaned, made a face.
“Labor?”
She pressed a hand to her belly, blowing out a breath. “No. Braxton-Hicks.”
“It’s normal,” the technician said. “Your baby’s heartbeat seems strong. I’ll show the pictures to the doctor —she’ll call you if there is anything to worry about, I’m sure.”
Ivy slid off the table. “We need to get to the conferences at the school.”
“Oh, Ivy, I have to get back to the resort. I’ve barely been in the office since my dad came home, and if he takes a look at the pile of bills . . . Can . . . ?” He glanced at Tiger, back to her.
She caught his hand. “No problem. Drop me off at home and take Tiger with you. I’ll meet you later.”
He tried not to let the image of her sitting in the frozen, smashed car while the cold closed in on her creep into his brain but —
“I promise I’ll call you before I leave the school. And I’ll use the four-wheel drive.”
He’d purchased her the best car he could find for this area —a used GMC Yukon with four new snow tires —after the insurance company deemed her little tin-can compact totaled. Still, it added another dent to his budget, money he didn’t see coming in anytime soon. “Okay. But if it’s too slippery, stay home. I’ll bring home dinner.”
She grabbed his jacket, tugged him down for a quick kiss. “You worry too much. About everything.”
But if he didn’t, who would? Ivy seemed to wear a perpetual smile as the birth of the baby approached. But Darek could only see the lean, muddy spring months ahead, stretching the lodge budget thin, with his unfinished house waiting on the far edge of the property. He heard sleepless nights with the baby crying, and Ivy exhausted, Tiger jumping from furniture or worse, argumentative and sullen, and Darek’s father staring at him with questions as he held their overdrawn checkbook.
The truth about the cabin three repairs had sat like a boulder on his chest, nearly choking his words when his father asked for a report on the resort. He’d offered a quick and too-cheery answer that summed up the high points and omitted the cold snap, the rebuild of cabin three, and most important, his complete abandonment of the operation after Ivy’s accident.
A lie by omission still felt like a lie.
“C’mon, Tiger,” he said, reaching for his son, who slid morosely off the vinyl chair and trudged out after him and Ivy. Darek settled his hand on Tiger’s shoulder, but he shrugged away from it, ran ahead, and took Ivy’s hand.
She smiled at Tiger, eliciting a pang of envy in Darek. Since when had he turned into the bad guy?
He dropped Ivy off at home, waited for her to start the Yukon, then headed to the lodge in his truck.
Tiger sat in the second-row bench seat, buckled in and staring out the window.
“You okay, buddy?” Darek kept his voice light, glancing at him in the mirror. His son needed a haircut, his blond hair poking out the back of his hat, and it looked like he wore his hot-dog-and-ketchup lunch on the collar of his sweatshirt.
Tiger shrugged.
“Anything bothering you?”
Tiger stared out the window.
“You know, when this baby comes, she’s going to be lucky to have you for a big brother.”
“I don’t want a sister.”
Darek frowned. “Maybe it’s a boy. A baby brother to wrestle with you when he gets older? And build snow forts?”
“Dylan has a baby brother and he breaks his LEGOs.”
“We’ll keep them out of reach, then.”
Another shrug.
“Are you mad at me, buddy? I know I’ve been working a lot but . . .”
Tiger said nothing and the silence stirred an ache in Darek, rushing him back to those days after Felicity had died when Tiger fled into himself, not eating, not sleeping. He’d only fall asleep on the sofa with his stuffed tiger nestled between him and Darek.
“I promise it’ll get better,” he offered, but the words seemed feeble.
He sighed in tune with Tiger.
A layer of fluffy snow had blanketed the shore overnight and clung to the shaggy fir on the south, untouched-by-fire side of the road. He turned at his drive and pulled up to the resort. Sometimes the vastness of the flames’ destruction could still blind him with disbelief. But now snow settled grace upon the charred forest beyond the rim of evergreens they’d planted to wrap the resort in an enclave of protection.
If only he could wrap Ivy and Tiger in the same kind of enclave. But God had given them a husband and father to stand in the way of the storms. And he wasn’t going to let them —any of them —down.
Darek turned to see if Tiger needed help unbuckling, but he was already opening the other door and jumping down. He slammed the door shut, running inside.
Darek walked into the resort’s tiny front office, attached to the main house through a side door. A tall counter in gleaming oak portioned the reception area from the workstation, and a rack on the counter held local brochures, coupons, and an activities chart. In the corner, one of his father’s chain saw–carved creations —a black bear —held a Welcome to Evergreen! sign in its outstretched paws. The scene only lacked a plate of his mother’s fresh-baked snickerdoodles.
He circled the counter, noticed the machine had three messages, pulled out the rolling chair, and booted up his laptop.
The mail accumulated in a metal in-basket beside the computer, and tucked next to it were a daily diary and an old-fashioned guest book —something his mother insisted on retaining for legacy —that kept the activities and testimonials of their guests.
One of Ingrid’s tricks for remembering everything that happened, year after year. She considered her guests friends rather than customers.
Darek heard Tiger greet his parents behind the door to the house, knew that his mother had probably swung him around and then invited him in for a cookie.
Darek’s stomach growled, but he opened his e-mail.
The messages poured in —spam and a few requests for lodging information.
His pulse quickened at a message from his buddy Jed Ransom. The image of his old fire boss flashed into his brain —his blackened face, white teeth grinning as a wall of flame rose behind him. Like battle, fighting the flames was exhausting, backbreaking work —digging trenches, lighting backfires, and felling trees.
Exhausting and exhilarating, and Darek thrived under the heat of a forest fire. He knew how to read a fire, how to attack it. How to win.
He could almost feel the soot in his eyes, the sweaty moisture of a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. Hear the ruckus of the chain saws, the roar of a greedy fire.
Wow, he missed it.
He opened the e-mail.
Darek!
We’ve been watching the temperatures —frozen much? I don’t know if you’re open yet, but if not —or even if you are —we could use your help here in Arizona. The season hasn’t officially started, so we’re lean on teams. I could use you for a couple weeks just until we’re fully staffed.
Old times, huh?
Jed
Darek read it again. Just a couple weeks. Working again with Jed and the team.
The thought sparked inside him, tasted of hope. But really he couldn’t get away, despite the fact that they had no revenue on the books yet for March.
He could use the month to finish his interior walls, maybe get the kitchen cabinets hung, the bathroom roughed in.
Build the house his family needed.
He was moving to reply to the e-mail when he heard the door behind him open.
“Hey, Son.” His father’s voice entered a moment before he did. Darek closed the e-mail, turned.
His father wore a denim resort shirt and jeans, his head freshly shaven. The way a resort manager should attire himself, instead of Darek’s work pants and sweatshirt. But he’d planned on shoveling and cutting firewood after he wrangled the books into submission.
“How did Ivy’s appointment go?”
“Good. The baby looks fine, thank the Lord.”
His father looked leaner after his trip to Europe, a new light in his eyes. And from the pictures he’d shown Darek of their Paris leg, it seemed the vacation had turned out to be the second honeymoon he’d hoped.
Except for their strange stopover in Prague to pick up Amelia. Nothing but closed-lipped secrets behind her return, but based on the way she’d holed up in her room or the den over the past few days, Darek suspected it might have been boy-related.
“I’m so glad.” His father sat on the old straight-back chair. It creaked under his weight. “You want to tell me about this?” He handed Darek a folded piece of paper.
Darek took it, frowned, his breath catching at the total.
“In my recollection, that’s the largest propane bill this resort has ever seen. I’ll be honest, Son, that’s one too many zeros there.”
Three thousand dollars. For one month’s gas and oil?
“Now,” John continued, “I called the company and they said that propane prices have doubled, which only makes me wonder if staying open in the winter is a good idea.”
Darek’s idea.
“And then there’s the matter of the cabin three repairs. Did you ever think of mentioning that?”
Darek set the bill in the basket.
“Darek, when I gave you this resort to run . . . I believe in you, Son, but —”
“Save it; I get it. I’m blowing this.” Darek got up, stalked away. “I understand what’s at stake here. Seventy-five years of legacy going down on my watch.”
“Darek —”
He rounded on his father. “But the fact is, maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’m a . . . I’m a carpenter. A lumberjack. I’m not good at numbers and schmoozing with the guests and figuring out what ads to run in the local papers —”
His father rose, frowning.
But Darek couldn’t stop. “You know what, Dad? You’re wrong. You shouldn’t believe in me. Because I’m not you. I can’t run this place. And frankly, I don’t want to.”
His words stripped all expression from John’s face.
“I don’t want to spend every waking moment running this resort, catering to guests. I hate it. I want to do something that actually accomplishes something. Like . . .” He tried to shake the word firefighting from his head, but there it lodged, burning inside him.
He ground his jaw, staring at his dad, and couldn’t help it. “Sometimes I wish I never had a family. I just let them down.”
“Darek —”
“Get Casper to run this place. He’s the one who’s good with numbers and wooing the guests. I’m just . . . the guy who cuts firewood.”
He pushed past his father into the next room. Tiger sat at the high-top counter, eating a Rice Krispies bar. Ingrid stood on the other side, arms akimbo, her eyes on Darek.
So she’d heard.
As had Ivy, who stood in the entryway, her face white. She still wore her coat as if she’d just walked in.
“Ivy, I —”
She held up her hand. “It’s fine, Darek. It’s fine.” She looked at Tiger, Ingrid. “The conference had to be rescheduled. I think Tiger and I are ready to go.”
Tiger slid off the stool.
“Ivy, please don’t go.” Darek reached out to touch her, but she jerked away from his grip, and he felt it like a knife in his chest.
“I’ll see you at home,” she said, her jaw tight. Tiger had slipped on his boots, and Ivy added his hat. He took her hand.
Darek watched her leave, unable to move from the cold entryway.
John stood in the doorway of the office. Darek didn’t look at him as he stalked back into the office.
He stared at the computer for a moment, then closed it and headed outside, letting the bracing wind cool him as he escaped to the woodpile.
Casper had unpacked enough Gore-Tex rain suits, cargo shorts, thermal shirts, Teva sandals, and day packs to wish himself into spring. He could nearly feel the sunshine on his skin, smell the piney scent of an awakening forest on the breeze as he crunched across trails littered with amber needles. He’d take out his dad’s old canoe —the one he kept tied to the dock —find some remote lake, and spend the day chasing walleye.
Except one look outside told him that any hope of spring might have slunk out in surrender to the gusts of icy wind that piled winter in haggard drifts along the roads, the shoreline.
He might never escape the cold.
“Two more boxes just arrived, Casper!” Ned called from the front room, his voice echoing all the way into the upstairs storage area. “I think these must be jackets —Windbreakers. Yeah, here’s those convertible pants. They zip off at the knee —”
“I’ll be out in a second.” After he figured out where to stack this last box of hiking boots. “Next time you decide to order spring supplies, you might consider doing it after the winter clearance sale.”
Nothing. He shook his head, trying to find a space —anywhere —in the crowded room. He’d labeled every box, tried to keep it ordered, but the place was packed, with a tiny aisle to crawl through to reach the camp chairs, lanterns, and collapsible bowls and camping utensils in the back.
“Just be glad I put the kayaks in the shed,” Ned said, leaning into the room. He surveyed the clutter. “Why aren’t you using the overflow storage?”
“Huh?”
“The old fish room.” He reached for the box of boots and Casper handed them over, climbing out of his prison.
“The fish room?”
Ned was already descending the stairs but glanced over his shoulder. “It used to be an old fish house. The fishermen would bring in the catch, clean it, and then store it here, in the coolers.”
Casper followed Ned to the room, stepping through time into the cleaned yet ancient space. The briny odor of fresh fish still embedded the rough-hewn walls, the ceiling low, a window cut into one side that peered out over the lake. A locked door led outside.
“You sure you want to put the boxes in here?”
“Just for a week, until after the sale. It’s weatherproof.” Ned set down the box of boots. “Look, you can see the initials of the first proprietor right here.” He pointed to a gold plaque by the door, then left to get the next load of boxes.
Casper walked over to the plaque, peered at it. D. T. W.
“Ned?” He came out of the room, jogging up to the front. “Are you sure that’s right? I thought the Zimmermans were the first owners of the trading post.”
Ned hoisted a box, handed it to Casper. “They were. But Dalton Wilder ran the fish house. He used to run supplies up and down the shore in his skiff. Actually, I think his kid Thor did a lot of it. Would run supplies between here and Mineral Springs. Thor opened a curio store there but probably bought this place when the Zimmermans passed and Mineral Springs closed down —took over the trading post and used the old fish house for storage”
Casper fell into step behind Ned. Thor ran supplies to Mineral Springs. Which meant he might have occasionally stopped at Naniboujou on the way? Where he would meet Aggie Franklin?
He set the box on the floor, and Ned turned the light off as they exited.
He had to tell Raina. The thought rushed at him, and he even made to reach for his phone.
Except Raina hadn’t called him —not once —all week. He tried not to let the image of Monte on the steps unsettle him, but twice he’d driven by her house, spied the truck, and decided that Monte spent way too much time alone with Raina.
“I think we need a little fun before the big clearance sale this weekend,” Ned was saying. “The ski resort is having a mountain bluegrass festival and you’re going out.” Ned held out Casper’s jacket, apparently retrieved from the office.
“What? No, Ned. I have stuff to do —”
“No, you don’t.” Ned went over to the till, locked it, and grabbed the money bag. “You’re not spending one more night alone over there at the place time forgot.”
“If you’re referring to the historical society . . .”
“The has-been sanctuary, yeah.” He grabbed Casper by the shoulder. “You’re young and single and you haven’t had a date in months. That changes tonight.”
He’d dated . . . Just last weekend, he’d gone out with Raina. Except that wasn’t a date exactly.
Although it felt like a date. Or more, maybe. Deeper.
The kind of moment real friends shared. But that was all they would be. So . . . “Okay, fine, but listen, I don’t need you to set me up. I can find my own girl.”
“I know exactly what you need,” Ned said.
Two hours later, with the bluegrass music winding around him and Ned leaning against the bar, sweet-talking a couple of out-of-towners into dancing with him, Casper harbored his doubts.
His brain kept traveling back to Thor, Aggie’s journal, and the other pieces of the story, now floating to the surface of his mind. Like the fact that Aggie’s father had died. Or as Aggie said, been murdered. And what about the missing US Steel bonds? Did they actually belong to Aggie?
What if she still had them tucked away somewhere?
But if she truly was a wealthy debutante, why would she hide in the woods, married to a local fisherman-turned-merchant the rest of her days?
Thor’s letter pulsed at him. “I think, in fact, you’ve known the truth about Duncan for years. In my defense, I did what every husband would do to keep his family safe.”
Casper had a feeling he knew exactly what Thor might have done —
“Casper!”
He turned to see Signe sidling up to him. She wore jeans, a low-cut black shirt, a white faux fur–trimmed vest, looking every inch a snow bunny. “I was hoping I’d see you.”
“Hey, Sig. I thought you’d be working at the VFW tonight.”
“Nope.” Her long blonde hair was down and she flipped it. “Remember when I told you I had a boyfriend?” She reached for his drink, pushed it aside, and climbed onto the stool beside his. “We broke up.”
Movement beyond her caught his eye, and for a moment his gaze landed, stayed on a brunette, her hair piled on top of her head, a few curly tendrils escaping. Then she turned, and his entire body went numb. In fact, maybe he’d never be able to breathe again. She wore tall black boots that only showed off her legs, a black dress that hugged the outline of her body, tracing all her curves —the ones that having a baby had left behind. A red scarf draped her neck, accentuating her red lipstick, and when she smiled at Monte, sweetly, trusting, Casper wanted to launch himself across the room and tackle him.
But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“So if you’re still interested, wanna dance?”
He reeled himself back, followed the voice, and found Signe grinning at him, reaching out to touch his shirt. “I like your necklace.” Her fingers closed around it. “Where’d you get it?”
“From a dig I worked on.” He saw her eyes sparkle as she examined it and thought, Why not? He’d hardly be giving it to Raina, and he wasn’t sure why he hung on to it. “You can have it.”
“Really?”
He untied it and reached around her, tying it around her neck.
“What is it?”
“A pirate doubloon,” he said, not sure why.
“I like it.” Then she leaned over and popped a kiss on his lips. Fast and tasting of beer.
Oh. Uh.
“Now do you want to dance?”
But the kiss had somehow slid shadows into his mood. “No. I think . . . I think I need to go.” It didn’t help that when he glanced again at Raina’s table, he saw Monte seated across from her, his hand on the table, holding hers. Caressing it. She laughed, and Casper thought he might shatter right there.
“No, Casper, stick around. I’m sorry —”
But he pulled away, slid off the stool. “It’s fine. Nice to see you again, Sig. Another time.”
Or never.
He pushed through the crowd toward the door and had almost reached it when he felt a hand on his jacket.
“Casper!”
Ned.
“I gotta get out of here.”
“But I saw you talking to Signe.” Ned had consumed a few beers and probably didn’t realize that the way he clamped his arm around Casper’s neck might cut off his air.
He unwound Ned’s grip. “Please tell me you didn’t send her over.”
“She’s lonely, man. On the rebound. Eddie cheated on her, and she needs a little attention.”
“Not from me. Ned, do you have a ride home? Because if not, I’m taking your keys and calling you a cab.”
Ned laughed and gestured to the two girls at the bar. Nice.
“Okay, great. Listen, if you need a ride, call me. Otherwise, I’m heading home.” He couldn’t help it. He glanced again toward Raina but shouldn’t have because he saw Monte take her hand and lead her to the floor as the band churned out a country slow dance.
Yeah, maybe Casper had been harboring some delusional hope that last weekend’s outing would spark something between them, something better, deeper. Something that would heal old wounds.
Except maybe it had. Maybe it had healed them too well.
At least for Raina.
“Stay out of trouble,” he said to Ned and ventured out into the cold. Whatever clues they’d dug up, he’d sleuth out the rest of the mystery on his own.
It took him the entire ride home before he could muster up a prayer for her.
“You’re so pretty, Raina. We had such a fun night. Are you sure you want me to leave?”
Monte stood just inside her door, one hand braced on the wall behind her, the other playing with her scarf, running it through his fingers, his eyes caressing her. Probably he didn’t realize how the scarf tightened around her neck.
She’d dressed up for him tonight because he’d asked her to, although her simple black dress still felt tight. However, the gleam of appreciation and the way he’d treated her —pulling out her chair, leaning in to give her his full attention, dancing with her, introducing her to his friends, his hand on the small of her back —all felt so . . . official. As if he wanted her to be a part of his world.
Which, after the debacle with Casper last weekend, she should welcome. Poor Monte —of course he should be jealous after she’d lied to him and snuck off with Casper as if it were a date. Of course he didn’t want her to spend time with her old flame, and when he explained, put it to her plainly, she saw that.
He’d had every right to raise his voice, to slam his hand against the wall in frustration. And then he’d actually teared up like she’d hurt him —really hurt him —and she’d pulled him into her arms.
He’d probably gotten the wrong idea about her, but thankfully she’d resurrected some boundaries before she found herself repeating the past.
Clearly she had problems drawing lines —Monte even told her that she didn’t know her own powers, that she drove a man beyond himself.
But not tonight. Monte had been the perfect gentleman, helping her into his truck, complimenting her, telling her jokes. He regaled her with a story about the estate he’d just landed, including a barn filled with old signs, a 1938 Ford tractor, and a player piano. “We’ll make a killing if we can find the right buyers.”
For a moment, her thoughts had flashed to Casper and what he’d say about the old car, the piano. The story he’d weave about the person who’d owned them, and maybe how he’d restore them.
She’d even mentioned the idea of restoring the piano to Monte. But he was right —why hang on to the past?
Now she ran her hand down his dress shirt. “It’s late, and I’m tired. But you could come by tomorrow night. I’ll make you dinner —”
He made a face. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but . . . maybe you should let me do the cooking.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, of course, you’re so precious for offering, but I can bring over some takeout.” He slid his hand around her neck and kissed her softly, then with more ardor, his mouth tasting of the cabernet he’d had with his steak. She sank into him, trying to relax. He deepened his kiss, his hand now leaving her scarf. She caught it before his fingers could travel and pushed him away.
Monte frowned. Sighed. “Okay, Raina. Have it your way. This time.” He winked, added a smile.
She found a smile back, trembling a little.
Probably just from the way he made her feel. Wanted. As if he couldn’t get enough of her.
He reached for his coat. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“We got more orders into the shop, and Gust asked me to help him package them up.”
“As long as you’re not meeting Casper for more frivolous treasure hunting.”
She swallowed. “Nope. Of course not.”
“Good. I’ll be out of town for the day, but I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Sleep well.” Then he closed the door behind him.
She bolted it. Watched him drive away.
Then she turned out the porch light and headed to her bedroom. Ten minutes later, dressed in her pajamas and a robe, she plopped down in the family room with a cup of hot cocoa and Aggie’s diary.
Only a month ago, she’d longed to do anything but read her evenings away. Now, with Monte at her house nearly every evening, watching one series after another —the Bourne movies, the Mission: Impossible movies —she longed for a quiet night.
Besides, Aggie and her mystery tugged at her. She’d tried to go to the house all week, but with the new snowfall, her car couldn’t make it through, and Monte hadn’t offered to clear the trail.
She might have to wait until spring to track down more pictures of Aggie. Without Casper.
She opened the page to where she’d last read, caught for a moment in the memory of Casper smiling at her like she’d uncovered something rare and precious.
JUNE 6
Duncan has been gone a month, and I feel as if my heart will stop beating with the pain of missing him. I know our courtship was fast and born in secret, but his attention soothed the loneliness I have felt since Mother’s passing and the shame of Paris. He wants to take care of me, to love me and protect me.
The hotel feels like a prison, despite the delicious foods, the attention of the staff, the daily games of shuttlecock and pinochle. At night, the wind rustles the shaggy pine trees, whispering, and it is then I feel my father return to me, see his blood pooled on the desk. By day, the sunshine fights to find me, wrapped in a blanket in a chair by the beach. I fear I will never be warm again.
Please, please return to me, Duncan.
JUNE 8
Today, as I sat outside in a chair, searching the sea as if Duncan might return to me over it, a deliveryman came to the resort. He brought smooth, juicy oranges, and he delivered one to me by the sea.
He is a northern man. Tall, with broad shoulders that bear the evidence of hard work, and blond hair —so blond it seems almost white. He wears it shorn in back, a long fop of it in front, leaking from his fisherman’s cap, and under it, the palest-blue eyes, like the sky at dawn. He wore a white shirt, suspenders, and a pair of dark trousers and smelled of the north woods that surround us. Piney. Solid.
He offered me the orange, said he’d plucked it from the sky because it told him to.
Funny man. His name is also peculiar —Thor.
JUNE 17
Thorsen Wilder. This is his full name, the blond man from the woods. He works for a local merchant, driving his delivery vehicle, but today he came in a skiff over the water. He wore his hat, the brim shading his eyes until he got to shore.
He strode right up to me and asked me if I wanted a tour by sea.
I told him I’d already seen the sea, had crossed it twice.
He told me that I’d never seen his sea.
Indeed, I have never seen the sea like Thor showed me. He sails with his face to the winds, eyes on the horizon, expectant, even alive with the anticipation of the next wave. It stirs in me an odd longing, as does the rugged, uncut wilderness, the jagged rock jutting into the water. It is untamed and yet, sitting in the boat under Thor’s watchful attention, I feared nothing.
It was then I realized it was the first time since Mother died that I truly wasn’t afraid.
JULY 1
My dreams are simple. I want to have a family. A stable life. Someone who loves me.
A home.
Thor took me on a picnic two days ago and told me that he too wants a home, a family. Children. To make his way in the world as a merchant. I suppose he is not unlike Father with his aspirations.
How strange my tailored world must seem to him —a woodsman, lumberjack, sailor.
When I told him of Father’s death and how Duncan rescued me from the flames, he fell uncharacteristically quiet. For the first time, listening to my words in the wind, against his silence, I heard my secret fears. But certainly Duncan is innocent of Father’s blood.
Then Thor asked the most peculiar thing. He asked, if I had the choice, would I choose my manicured life or one of uncertainty. Foolish question, of course, for everyone longs for the surety that life will be without blemish.
Thor listened through it all while sprawled on the blanket, the sun turning his hair to gold, his skin to bronze. He has a way about him that makes the world seem small when he walks into it. And when he touches my hand, my entire body goes limp as if I am a handkerchief left in the sun.
It is nearly two months since Duncan has left me, and I fear he is not returning.
Deep inside, I am also beginning to fear that he will.
JULY 10
Today we hiked to the falls behind the lodge, a roaring kettle of frothy water. Thor took my hand, and we climbed to the higher falls, where he spread out a picnic, perched above the ruckus, and we lay on our backs and traced the clouds. He says God is out there, and when we fix our eyes on Him, so is our future. He has a funny way of talking about God —easy, unafraid. I mentioned it, and he says it is because fear is a result of looking at ourselves.
Thor’s large hand took mine, and he told me to look up at the largeness of God. He said that God’s favor depends on His greatness, not our smallness. His great love, showered upon us. He says that a small life is lived by staring inward, but a large one is lived by diving into God’s love.
I am not sure. It seems that God’s love should be more tame, more reasonable. Expected and attained.
Thor walked me home, and in the soft glow of the lamplight near the back door, he pulled me into his arms. He searched for words in my eyes and then kissed me. Gently, yet with the taste of the wilderness, untamed, bold and free in his touch.
It was only after he let me go that I realized what I’d done and fled to my room in shame. This is why I know Thor is wrong. Because how can God not love a man like Thor? And likewise turn away from a sinner like me?