twenty-four

Sara couldn’t hold back a giggle when Forrest stumbled after parking the horse near a stump. He stepped on the stump and lost his footing.

“Careful,” he warned, holding his hands up for her to fall into. “I might let you take another spill like the last one.”

She wasn’t concerned, however, and slid off into his arms. He set her, surefooted, on the ground. “Aren’t you going to tie Skeptical Lady up?”

Forrest shook his head. “No, it’s all right for her to wander. She likes the woods. She never goes far, but she’ll probably wander down to the lake after awhile. If she decides she’s better off running free, then so be it.”

Sara studied him for a moment while he patted the horse’s neck. The gesture was so gentle. Was that what Forrest was doing? Running free? Did he not live by the usual restraints of life? Maybe, if he’d been confined in jail or the halfway house, the absence of rules and restrictions appealed to him. Yes, Forrest Paridy was an enigma.

Forrest led her along a path through the trees. She couldn’t imagine being so far from any sign of civilization with anyone else without feeling apprehension about their intentions. However, she experienced none of that with Forrest. Maybe she’d liked his touch, his nearness, his complexity a little too much. From all she’d seen of him, she couldn’t imagine that he would take advantage of a situation. But if he was looking for a romantic encounter, would she be offended? Or had she given some kind of indication she wouldn’t mind?

When he took hold of her arm, the wheels of her mind began digging ruts in her brain as if it were made of gravel, and her heart rate accelerated until its beating in her ears sounded like loud drums. Oh, help. Music was now playing along with the drums, and this time it included words.

Just then, they walked out of the woods. Sara stopped and caught her breath. They’d apparently come upon an Indian reservation. It reminded her of the outdoor play Unto These Hills held down at Cherokee.

Bright moonlight revealed several tepees scattered about the level area in front of a lake, reflecting the starlit sky. At least twenty little boys, mixed in with a few men and women and a black lab Sara recognized as Chum, were marching around the lake, beating on tom-toms and singing, “She’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes. She’ll be driv-ing six white horses when she comes.”

“That’s a welcome for you,” Forrest said.

Sara took in a deep breath. She’d arrived on only one horse, but who needed five more? Particularly when she had her backside to think of. Now if she always had someone like Forrest to catch her when she fell, it would be a different matter.

As they walked closer, the little boys congregated into a group and chanted, “Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hooray! Sara! Sara! Sara!” Two older guys did a drum roll while the little boys beat hard on their tom-toms.

The next thing she knew, the boys were putting their drums away in a big tent. When they reemerged, Forrest settled them around on sawed-off tree trunks, forming a circle, while the older guys, ranging anywhere from their early twenties to late thirties or more, came up and introduced themselves to Sara.

Three of the guys were single counselors. They worked at a nearby boys’ camp with a lifeguard and two hiking instructors, who had also joined the festivities. The other adults were married couples. One woman was a camp nurse whose husband worked elsewhere but always joined her on overnight trips with the campers. Forrest introduced the associate camp director as a long-time friend from his college days when Forrest worked with the camp. The man’s wife joined him on these trips.

Janie, the nurse, indicated an empty space with a guitar leaning against the trunk. “Forrest wants you to sit over here.”

The adults squeezed in between campers. Forrest lit the paper, sticks, and twigs in the center. Everyone whooped and hollered at the blazing bonfire.

Forrest came over, picked up the guitar, and began to strum and sing. Everyone joined in. Sara knew all the songs—old standards like “You Are My Sunshine”—and sang at the top of her lungs like the rest of them. She swayed from side to side when the song called for it, bouncing from Forrest’s shoulder to a camper’s and back.

The young counselors went into the big tent and brought out hot dogs, marshmallows, and long sticks. Chum went around trying to get the hot dogs from the campers, too often being successful.

Lady meandered down. While the horse and the dog cleaned up dropped hot dogs and burnt marshmallows, several campers told ghost stories. Finally, they all sang, “Good night, Sweet-heart, I’ll see you in my dreams.”

“Would you sing ‘The Lord’s Prayer,’ with me?” Forrest asked.

Sara nodded. She assumed the others would join, but they didn’t. She and Forrest lifted their voices together in praise to the Lord.

The adults settled the campers in tents. Some of the adults slept in tents, others in sleeping bags near the lake.

Forrest explained, “I don’t want to chance any little sleepwalker going into the lake in the middle of the night.”

Sara thought Forrest had thought of everything. After the others were settled, the fire still burned, and he asked, “Would you like to go back? Or stay the night in a tent or sleeping bag?”

She answered without hesitation. “The sleeping bag under the stars.”

He grinned. “Would you like to walk around the lake?”

On the other side of the lake, Forrest showed Sara the great hole dug out for the foundation of a dining hall. “I’ve worked at a local camp here and in Texas. I’ve visited others to see what they look like and how they operate.”

He explained that after his grandfather retired, the older man had allowed local camps and Boy Scout troops to hike on the land and have overnight trips. Forrest had continued the practice. “I want to do more of that,” he said. “Little boys need to have fun while being taught survival and responsibility, along with appreciation of God’s creation.”

“Oh, I agree, Forrest.” She faced him. He saw the gentle moonlight caressing her face and hair, and it took all his willpower not to take her in his arms, not to taste her sweet lips.

“I’ve done things similar to this when I’ve gone on over-night camping trips with church groups. But I can honestly say, I’ve never had as good a time as I had tonight.”

“And it’s not over yet,” he said.

They returned to the campsite and sat on the log. “The family loves you, Sara,” Forrest said. “Albert thinks the world of you. Sheena keeps hinting you should be a permanent part of this family, the way you fit in.”

“They’re so kind. I’ve messed up so much.” She sighed and drew circles in the sand with a stick. “I feel inept. I don’t know about keypads, gold knobs, fading towels, laundry chutes. . . . I’m not suited for Albert. He’s a great guy. Probably on his way to being president some day. At least senator or governor.” She laughed. “Can’t you just see me as a first lady of anything?”

Forrest didn’t laugh. “Yes, I can. Being a successful first lady isn’t about knowing which fork to pick up. You’d have your own staff. And with your outgoing, giving nature you’d be as admired as Princess Di or the Bush ladies.”

Her head turned toward him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m being complimentary. Or at least, I’m trying.”

The fire burned low against the background of night. “Well, I know what I’m not suited for,” Sara said. “I’m better on a hiking trail than a campaign trail.” Forrest hid his answering grin from her as he tossed another log on the fire and little orange sparks danced up into the star-speckled sky.

❧

Sara didn’t sleep much that night, but then it was a night for thinking. Forrest was in a sleeping bag but not near her. She knew when he got up to throw another log on the fire to ward off a mountain lion or a bear. She knew when others got up to do the same and when the black lab, Chum, made the rounds as if protecting them all.

Early the next morning, she sat near the fire on which Forrest had set a white-speckled blue pot. After awhile, he poured her a cup of steaming black coffee.

They sat silently, sleepy-eyed, before the others got up.

“You’re doing a good thing, Forrest,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said and sipped his coffee.

Sara stared out across the lake, morning mist rising from it as the sun peeked over the mountains that surrounded the setting. One thing was troubling.

A person couldn’t spend his life out in the open, under the stars. A person had to make a living. She’d like to camp out like this all the time too, but she had to work. If she had a trust fund from a grandparent, she supposed it would be different.

Forrest was an admirable person. But as good as this was, didn’t a grown man, almost thirty, need to do more with his life than occasionally allow young boys to camp out on his land? He’d hinted he’d spent most of his inheritance. How would he make a living? Support a wife and children? Two people who didn’t have a strong sense of what they were doing couldn’t possibly make it together.

A sense of sadness engulfed her as she remembered that God might reveal that one of the Paridy brothers was the one He intended for her.

No, Forrest was not the one God had for her.

Maybe Adam.