The sun insulted Geneva’s eyes. She rolled over, grumbling, feeling tired and vaguely achy all over. Her throat hurt, too, but she forced herself to rise, then took some aspirin, for she was determined not to put off going with Howard Knight to get her car. The late night and a little cold coming on would not cause her to be less than friendly toward him again, she resolved.
He arrived early, before Geneva had finished breakfast. Wayne had left before dawn for his rounds, so Howard filled in at his place at the kitchen table with the women and children, and later sipped coffee while Geneva washed the dishes and packed diapers for the family’s visit to Wayne’s parents’ house.
To finish her own packing, Rachel set the girls at the table with crayons and put the babies in a portable crib. Lenora curled up peacefully, sucking her thumb, but Genny, vocal as usual, bellowed for someone to pick her up.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Genny. Settle down for just a minute while I get this table cleared,” complained Geneva. “What a little loudmouth you are!”
Rising from his seat, Howard scooped Genny out of her infant seat, then settled down again, elbows resting on his thighs, with the baby’s head cradled in his hands, her body reclining down the length of his forearms. His action surprised Geneva. Never had she ever seen a grown man voluntarily pick up a newborn that was not his own, and she knew that Howard himself was childless. But he seemed perfectly comfortable, smiling into the baby’s face as if he had raised a brood already.
“Hey there, yew little bitty thing,” he sang in a high, crooning voice, his head bent close to Genny’s. “What chew squallin’ for? Huh?” He jiggled his legs slightly to rock her. “Yew better quit yer squallin’, now. Yer mammy and yer aunt Geneva’s got their work to do.”
Hannah and Phoebe clambered down from their chairs to crowd around Howard and peer at their baby sister. Genny quieted. Geneva was so taken aback by the scene that she spoke up, almost embarrassed, “Looks like you’ve got yourself some girl friends, Howard. But just wait until they all get going at once. They can make quite a racket.” Sighing, grateful she was only the aunt, she added, “Can you imagine being the mother of four small children?”
Howard’s eyes gazed deeply into the child’s face. “I wish I was their daddy,” he said wistfully, then he jiggled his legs again and murmured nonsense to Genny.
It took an hour for everyone to get Rachel’s car loaded. “I’m late,” she said breathlessly, pushing the children into the car. “Wayne’s expecting me by now, and I bet it will take me at least forty-five minutes to get to the hospital. He’ll be frantic. Bye. Love you. Have a good trip. See you Saturday or Sunday—or whenever!” she called, tearing out of the driveway.
As soon as they were settled in Howard’s truck and headed out on their own excursion, Geneva felt the expected awkward silence descend. It was the first time they had been alone together since the night in the barn, and she hoped she could find a way to apologize to him. He was the first to break the silence. “Jimmy Lee tells me yew saved his neck again yisterdy. Tracked him all the way over to Hutterton jist to bail him out of jail.” He gave Geneva a slow, sideways smile, not making direct eye contact.
Geneva appreciated his desire to put her at ease; she wanted very much to return the favor, perhaps even to make up to him all the trouble she had caused him. Her contrite heart told her she had wronged him with every word she had spoken to him, and now it was time to drop all her façades.
“Jimmy Lee just happened to stumble into a larger drama,” she began, then launched into the whole saga of Howard Graves and his rescue, including the part about why Howard had come in the first place, and why the baby formula was found in his fancy car. She did her best to make the story funny, adding her observation about the fat sheriff and the details on her own machinations. Fluttering her eyelids, she drawled, “But sheriff, he’s a good man, and his daddy’s a judge!”
Howard Knight laughed so hard he nearly lost control of the truck, and at one point, he actually pulled off the road so he could lean his head against the steering wheel and give himself over completely to hysteria. Geneva felt she had redeemed herself.
“And poor Jimmy Lee is standing there, without a clue. I don’t know how he thought I had found out about his predicament. Then I go out to the car, and he’s sitting in the front seat, with Lamentations just lying all over him, looking at him with these big mooning eyes, wagging that mutilated stump!”
“Oh, Jimmy Lee!” laughed Howard. “He’s got himself a big problem. I guess I oughta warn ye, he’s set his cap fer yew. But the poor fool awready has himself a girlfriend, outweighs him by fifty pounds, and she’ll have his hide if she hears about him runnin’ after yew!” He ran his fingers quickly through his hair. “Poor man. He’s a good soul, but he ain’t got a lick of sense. She’ll chew up his hide good.”
By the time they reached Swallowtail Gap, Geneva and Howard were good friends. She braced herself for the sight of his home, determined not to embarrass him by being haughty when she saw either a trailer resting on cinder blocks or a rickety shack leaning into the mountain. But she was surprised to find a cozy log cabin, newly built, tucked into a neat yard, surrounded by a deep forest. Her pretty little Mazda, sparkling clean and newly waxed, was parked under a spreading oak. The picture was charming. Inside the house, there was a clean, modern kitchen built for the convenience of someone who lived in a wheel chair, with low counters and more cabinets below than above. Geneva hid her puzzlement over the seeming prosperity of the place.
He introduced his father, the occupant of the wheel chair. Jesse was a small, gentle man with Ike’s blue eyes and Lenora’s energy. The three of them chatted for a while; Geneva appreciated Jesse’s eagerness to please his company. He offered her food and drink, he smiled his eager blue eyes at her, and he told her he wished she would come back often. When the talk turned to horses, he said abruptly to Howard, “Why don’t ye take the little lady fer a ride, Chap? I bet she’d like to see the view from the Jump-off.” He added to Geneva, “Hit’s real perty, yew kin see the river from up there.”
Howard hesitated. Geneva knew he felt he would be overstepping his bounds if he invited her for a ride, as if she might think he had lured her here on the pretense of retrieving her car, but hoping for something more. She really did not feel like riding. Her headache and sore throat had returned, but this was her chance to show him kindness. She smiled at him.
“Howard, I’d love to go riding. I’ve never been up to these parts before. Do you have horses?”
“I do, Miss Geneva. They’re in the stable, up through the woods back yonder. I’d be pleased ta take ye up to see the Jump-off.”
Howard’s father fairly laughed out loud in his delight. “Ya’ll take yer time, y’hear? I’ll be gone over to Pappy and Mammy’s when yew git back,” he called after them as they struck off through the woods toward the barn.
The barn, too, spoke of an affluence that Geneva did not expect. It was new, airy, and large, exuding the rich smell of pine and clean straw, but the real surprise came when Howard opened the first stall and led out a beautiful Morgan stallion. Geneva’s eyes widened. How could he afford such a magnificent beast?
The answer dawned on her as Howard led the second horse, an equally beautiful Appaloosa mare, from the next stall, and her heart turned cold and hard. Jimmy Lee had been lying or wrong. Howard did have himself a little cash crop up here. More likely a huge cash crop, one which put a lot of dope into the high school pipeline. Nobody could earn the kind of money it takes to build a homestead like this simply by selling off timber and farming legitimate crops. Her pleasant expression turned icy, and she sagged against a stall door, miserable of spirit.
She wanted to go home. There was nothing to say to this man. They were from different worlds, with different values. She would take the quick ride, then get into her little Mazda and ride back home, forgetting him as easily as she could forget the leering pimps and drug dealers back in Washington who shouted at her as she walked downtown. She was immune to such men; they were so far below her that they were not worth becoming upset over. Angrily, she mounted the mare, but as she lifted into the saddle, a sudden dizziness overcame her so that she had to cling to the horse’s mane for a moment to regain her equilibrium. Busy with the high-spirited stallion, Howard had not noticed, and determined that she should get out of this gracefully, she waited quietly until he was seated and on his way up a narrow trail.
It wound up through a brushy, steep incline; the narrowness and roughness of it prohibited much conversation, which pleased Geneva. She rebuffed Howard’s several attempts to engage her, pretending to be concentrating on the rough trail each time he called back to her. But after they had come a few miles, the trail leveled off in a fern glade surrounded by enormous, widely spaced hardwoods. It looked like virgin forest, and Geneva felt so awed by the cool stillness that her anger abated. Perhaps Howard had another source of income.
As soon as the trail widened, Howard dropped back to ride beside her. He glanced at her shyly, waiting for her to speak.
“Nice place,” she commented.
“Thanky. Thank yew,” he corrected himself. “I’m real proud of it.”
“This is yours?” she asked, surprised. They had been riding over an hour. How much land did he own?
He looked pleased as he nodded. “Come, on, I’ll show ye the Jump-off.” Nudging the stallion into a canter, Howard flew up the slope, across the black earth. She followed him up through the trees, across a roaring stream banked with late-blooming laurel, then back down to a rocky outcropping, where he stopped. She drew up beside him, bewitched by what she saw. They were standing on a ledge miles above a river. In the distance below her, she could hear the faint roar from a waterfall, could see the mist rising like a bridal veil shimmering in the late morning sun. As far as she could see, undulating hills gave way to mountains, which gave way to the blue and silver sky. Beyond the blue, in the corner by a far mountain, clouds the color of bruises rolled in, billowing high and angry. Before them rode a rainbow, grand, but somewhat insignificant amid the vastness of the view.
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed.
“Yes,” he smiled, pleased. “I’ll never let it go, not fer any price.”
“You own this? How far?” she gasped, incredulous, then sank back in the saddle, dumbstruck as he stretched out his arm and swept it from horizon to horizon.
As far as ye kin see. And more beyond them hills yonder.” He seemed taller, the pride emanating from him, like a full-blooded Cherokee from the last century coming back to claim his homeland.
She gaped at him. Despite her doubts of Howard’s honesty, she very much wanted to respect him. Hopefully, she asked, “Did you inherit all this?”
“No,” he replied, his face still gleaming. “I bought it. Ever acre of it.”
Geneva felt like crying. She had so wanted to like him and to give him the benefit of the doubt. She did not want to repay his kindness to her and Rachel with a display of her distaste for him, but she found the ire boiling up from her stomach, causing her throat to constrict painfully and her head to pound. She almost felt nauseated as the angry, sarcastic words snaked, unbidden, out of her mouth. “I guess the hemp business must be pretty good up here. Do a lot of trading with the Mob? Got a lot of grade-school kids trekking up this mountain to get started in the business?”
The light left his eyes as he turned to her, horror-struck. “Oh, Miss Geneva,” he gasped, his eyes pained, “I don’t grow no hemp. Not even in the garden. Mammaw jist grows enough to keep Pappaw in tea to cure his eyes. No ma’am. I never grew no hemp,” he repeated, distressed.
“Really?” she replied archly. “Excuse me for prying, but I would guess it would take more than anybody could make from a tobacco crop to buy all this land. And these horses. And that pretty little house back there.”
Howard stared at her. He opened and closed his mouth twice, but did not speak. At last he shook his head sorrowfully, insisting in a soft voice, “No ma’am. I never grew no hemp. Or nuthin’ like it. And I’m sorry I told ye that lie. That wuz jist my pride atalkin’. I got money in other ways.”
She waited, but he did not speak again. “Bootlegging?” she finally asked.
The quiet voice was insistent. “No ma’am.” he replied, his eyes on the ground.
She sighed. “Farming, then? Logging?’
He shook his head. “Not exactly.”
She blew out her breath, exasperated. “Okay, Howard, I believe you.” And she wanted to believe him, but she felt too irritable and tired to hear any explanation. She was hot, and she just wanted to go home and forget about this. “I don’t know why, but I do, and I guess it’s none of my business anyway. Now come on, let’s go back. It looks like that thunderhead will be on us in another minute.”
The thunderhead was indeed approaching at an alarming rate. Already the wind had picked up, swaying the trees and sending leaves and twigs to the ground. Howard looked around him sharply. “It’ll be here in less than a minute. We ain’t got time to git back to the house. Come on!” He kicked the stallion in the sides and tore up the trail into the howling wind. Geneva took out after him, suddenly aware that this was no small storm approaching them. The warm sky had turned black; wind tore at her hair and clothes, and the air around them had become an eerie green. The rain had not yet reached them, but they could see it in the distance, black against the trees below. The frothy, white river had disappeared.
They had not ridden more than a hundred yards before the rain caught up with them, driving down in torrents, hitting Geneva’s face and head so hard they hurt. And then the stinging hail came raining down. The protection of the large trees loomed ahead; Howard and Geneva made the relative safety of their high canopy, then thundering across the springy humus, they continued into the deep woods. But still the rain and hail reached them. Geneva, already drenched, began to shiver in the cooling air as she urged her horse to follow the stallion. She did not know where Howard was taking her, but she felt as if they had been galloping for a long, long time through the falling ice and rain, so long that the thundering of the horses’ hooves drilled into her brain. She hurt all over; a burning pain spewed out from her head and left a tail of venom down her spine and into all her muscles. She felt weak and faint, but she held on, throwing away the reins and slumping over the mare’s neck, not caring where she was going, but hoping that she would arrive alive.
She did not notice when the horses stopped. She saw Howard beside her in the pouring rain, touching her shoulder and speaking to her. She was shivering violently and aching with a pain that ran from her ears to her legs. It was all she could do to look at him and gasp, “Howard, I don’t feel too well.”
Alarmed, he looked closely at her, then he put his hands to her cheeks and forehead. “Darlin’, yew got a bad chill. Yer downright blue. Yew think ye kin make it just a little farther?”
She strained her burning eyes toward the weeping sky. It hurt to turn her eyes upward. The rain poured into her face. Blinking against the pain and the water, she nodded mutely, then draped herself over the mare’s neck. Never had she felt so miserable.
“Never mind. I’ll help ye. I got shelter jist up ahead,” said Howard, sliding down off the stallion’s back, then swinging himself up behind Geneva. Gently, he pulled her upright and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his body, warm and easy up against her. Geneva felt as if they were swimming through a brutal ocean frosted with ice, but Howard’s warmth and strength kept her from downing.
They rode at a canter through the deep woods for another fifteen minutes in the pouring rain. To Geneva it seemed like hours with her head and body wracked by pain with each stride, but she stayed grimly mute, unwilling to cry out and let Howard know what a sissy she was. Summoning all she had merely to hang on, she let the sounds of the thunder in the distance and the more immediate thunder of the horses’ hooves wash over her as the water ran relentlessly down her head and face. Howard’s horse, lashed to her saddle horn, jerked and plunged beside her so that she feared that the saddle would be torn from her mount. She clung to Howard’s arms, keeping her head bent away from the drowning rain.
The horses slowed. Geneva peered through the gray sheets of rain to see a cabin nestled in a hollow. Like Howard’s house, it was a fairly new log structure, though considerably smaller than the house. A porch ran around three sides; a stone chimney possessed nearly the entire fourth side. A stable stood beyond near a spruce thicket. Between the house and the stable was a clearing where a small garden lay, punished by the hailstones. Howard urged the horses right up the steps onto the wide porch, then dismounted and lashed the reins to the railing. When he turned to Geneva, she slid off her mount and clung to him while he led her inside the cabin and deposited her onto a low stool placed in the center of the room.
She was shivering; her teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and she could do no more than watch as Howard strode to a cupboard and removed several blankets. One of these he wrapped around Geneva and her wet clothes, then he turned to a narrow bed tucked under the eaves and pulled back the covers. Underneath the wool blankets lay sheets and a mattress made of straw and ticking. It was to this he led her, pushing her gently onto the bed. He removed her shoes and socks and tucked her underneath the covers. Without speaking, he spread the remaining blankets over her as well.
Almost immediately the warmth quieted her shivering. A wonderful scent assailed her nostrils. It occurred to her that the mattress upon which she lay was stuffed not with straw but with grasses and sweet-smelling herbs. Vaguely she recognized the scent of wild mint and lavender, perhaps some fennel. Sighing, she burrowed under the covers and hoped that the warmth would seep into her bones.
Howard had turned to the fireplace that took up most of the wall opposite the bed. He was building a fire from an ample stock of wood and kindling stacked neatly in one corner of the room. Another corner contained a rough-hewn table and a couple of stools. All around the perimeter of the room ran a single shelf built into the wall, loaded with clothing, stores of food and equipment, and oddly, a small collection of books. Under the shelf was a row of pegs, upon which hung an assortment of clothing and gear. Geneva’s eyes roved on around the room. A number of shovels stood by the front door; the back door, securely bolted with a heavy beam, shared a wall lined with cupboards and some odd-looking wooden contraptions and buckets.
The fire lit, Howard turned his attentions back toward Geneva. She closed her eyes against the burning and tried to pull the blankets closer. As he moved the stool nearer to the bed, Geneva realized it was only a part of a large tree stump, sawed off smoothly on the top and bottom, and it was new enough that the bark still clung all around the outside. The other stools were of the same make. Clearly, this was a camp that Howard had built himself, and despite her chills and aches, she wondered why he had provisioned it so fully. No doubt he spent considerable time here. But why? She had no idea where they were, but she knew they were deep in the forest, and very high in elevation. The trees outside were spruce and fir.
“Ye’ll be gettin’ warmed up soon, now,” he was saying. “I got us a good fire agoin’, and in a minute, I kin give ye somethin’ ta make ye feel better. Yew just lay there, and let me dry ye off some.” As he spoke, he lifted a rough towel to her head, rubbing it briskly to soak up the wetness. Irritably, Geneva wondered how her hair would look when it dried. He did not seem to mind that his method of towel-drying would surely make her look like she was wearing a fright wig. She moved her head away.
“There, yer about as dry as I kin get ye,” he said, rising and draping the towel on a peg near the fire. Now I’m gonna brew ye up somethin’ to warm ye up. My guess is ye’ll git fever, too.”
He moved easily, even gracefully, as he collected two buckets beside the back door. Sliding the wooden bolt from its resting place, he stepped out onto the back porch and disappeared. Geneva closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she saw him standing by the back door, water streaming from him. He set the buckets upon the table. From one of them he dipped a small pan and a larger one full of water and placed them upon the fire.
Then he selected several tins from the shelf and spooned some of the contents from each of them into the small pan. After a few minutes, he picked up a cup and a dishcloth, and placing the cloth over the cup, poured the liquid from the small pan into the cup. He brought it directly to her.
“Here, Miss Geneva. Drink this,” he ordered.
For the first time since she had entered the room, she spoke. “What is it?” she mumbled suspiciously.
“Jist some willer bark tea, with a little mint and honey so it don’t taste so bitter.” He smiled gently. “Don’t worry. There ain’t no hemp in there.”
She smiled weakly, too sick to be embarrassed, and dutifully took the cup from him. It was bitter despite the mint and honey, but she drank it anyway. Granny Morgan had given her willow bark tea before; she knew its benefits.
While she drank, Howard held his hands to the fire, then returning to the bedside, he reached under the covers for her foot, drew it out, and rubbed it with his warmed hands. Geneva was a little disconcerted. As good as it felt, it seemed an awfully intimate thing to do, and it made her uneasy. She became more uncomfortable when he cupped his hands around her toes, then put his mouth to them to warm them with his breath.
“Lordy, yore feet are as cold as them hailstones. I got a kettle on, and soon’s the water gits hot, I’ll fill ye a hot water bottle.” He reached for her other foot and gave it the same firm massage, but since his hands had grown cold, he opened his shirt and placed her freezing foot against his bare chest, wrapping his shirt and his arms tightly around it.
Oh, God, Geneva thought miserably. Where am I? Who is this man, and what on earth is he doing to me? Oh, God! Will I make it out of this place alive? She was so frightened and sick she almost cried, but tears took too much energy, so she merely closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. At this moment, it took all her strength to do just that.
Presently, he stood again and busied himself at the fire, then returned with several quart fruit jars filled with hot water. These he wrapped in towels and packed them around her feet, then he tucked the covers back tightly around her.
“There,” he said, smiling. That’ll start warmin’ ye up. I got plenty of these jars, and I got water goin’. I’ll pack ‘em all around ye until ye git yer blood warmed.” Filling more jars, he tucked them close beside her all up and down her legs and torso. He instructed her to hold one in each hand, and when he finished laying the last jar up in the crook of her neck, he began again at her feet, pouring out the cooled water and filling it again from the pan in the fire. If Geneva had not felt so miserable, she would have been astonished at his ministrations. He was the most solicitous nurse she had ever seen.
Before long, as the willow bark tea suffused her system, she began to feel a little better. She grew warmer, then ultimately, almost hot. Setting the mason jars aside, she threw off some of the blankets, scratching at the discomfort of her soggy clothing.
“I got some dry clothes ye kin put on,” said Howard, moving to gather a flannel shirt and a pair of khaki trousers from the pegs in the wall. “Ye kin lay yer wet things over here by the fire, and they’ll dry in no time.” His eyes dropped to the floor, and for the first time since entering the cabin, he looked uneasy and unsure of himself. “I’ll jist step outside and put up the horses,” he said quietly.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully.
She stripped before the fire, peeling off the miserable, wet clothing, and putting on Howard’s warm, dry shirt and pants, much too big for her, but welcome. She threaded her own leather belt through the belt loops and rolled the legs and sleeves up to a comfortable length. The new clothes smelled of wood smoke and sage. She buried her face in the soft warmth of the flannel for a moment before she gathered up her wet garments to hang them on the wall.
Howard knocked on the door. The awkwardness between them rose up again when she admitted him. With her aches and chills abated, she had room in her mind to consider the delicacy of their position. It wouldn’t have been so bad, she thought, if she had not attacked him in that barn so many weeks ago. Neither of them knew how to establish a reasonable ground for a cordial relationship, especially now that they were alone again, stuck in a one-room cabin high in the mountains, with the rain coming down in rivers. Geneva gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and smiled as well as she could. It still hurt to breathe, and she felt so weak, her knees and arms shook.
“This bed smells wonderful, Howard. What a good idea to stuff it with herbs.”
He, too, was obviously uncomfortable. The graceful movements of an hour ago gave way to jerky, almost clumsy gestures as he pulled another dry shirt from the wall. He glanced at her and hesitated. Geneva could see that he was deliberating about going outside to change. Carefully, she looked out of the window.
“Do you think it will ever stop?” she asked hoarsely. “It’s a good thing you have this place here. We’d have been drowned by the time we made it back to your house—if we’d made it back all. That hail could have killed us.”
She glanced at him. His back was turned; he had stripped off the wet shirt. The fire gleamed upon the wet jeans and the coppery skin, giving definition to the muscle and sinew, just as the lantern light had gleamed upon him the night she had embarrassed them both so. Taking a labored breath, she decided to plunge forward and clear the air.
“Howard.” He turned to her, absorbed in the buttons. “Howard,” she repeated nervously. “I owe you an apology. Several, in fact.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and fought the urge to crawl back under the covers. She felt so undignified, so vulnerable, and she was attempting to make things a little more comfortable between herself and this man who barely spoke the same language as she. She looked at him through a mist and wished she was far away, but she knew she owed him far more than she could repay.
“I don’t know how to say this, but I… I mean, marijuana makes me a little crazy—well, a lot crazy. I avoid it, actually. I mean, I didn’t know that I’d had some, when I drank the tea, you know?” She stopped. It was the best she could do under the circumstances.
Howard continued to button his shirt, slowly, deliberately. Geneva gnawed at her knuckles, waiting. At last he lifted his head, and while Geneva could see that his cheeks were flaming, there was laughter flitting in his mouth and eyes. At last he spoke.
“Miss Geneva—”
“Just Geneva, please.”
“Geneva,” he began to chuckle, turning his head and covering his mouth. She smiled, grateful.
“What on earth did you think? Honest, I’m not like that, really.” She grew more anxious. She really hoped he would not think her as loose as she had behaved, especially now that it appeared that she would be alone with him for a while, here in this cabin, far, far from civilization. She barely had the strength to sit up, let alone fight him off should he attack her.
“Ma’am—Geneva. I thought,” he chuckled. “I thought fer a minute there, old Santy Claus had done come and give me everthing I’d ever dreamed of.”
Geneva sat quietly.
He shook his head. “But then I thought that maybe I’d oughta told yew my name was Chap. That, or else I’d better learn to say Haa-ward.”
After that, they fell into an easy companionship, where she entrusted herself to his care, and he was gentle and solicitous. He did not touch her again, but kept the fire hot and gave her mild teas to keep her warm. Although she was not hungry, he prepared a lunch of home-canned beans, corn, and baked potatoes from the garden. After she ate, she felt better, so they played cards while the rain drummed down on the little cabin roof until Geneva began to feel an unpleasant pressure in her bladder that she could not ignore.
“Howard, I’ve been drinking your teas all day, and I absolutely must go to the bathroom,” she admitted reluctantly.
He considered this briefly as he looked out at the downpour. “Well,” he replied laconically. “Let me git ye a pot, and I’ll just step outside and ye can go.”
Geneva was aghast. “No, I’ll go outside. I just need to borrow your raincoat.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Yew got fever. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ye go out in this here rain. Ye kin pee in a pot, and I’ll take it right outside and empty it.”
“No! You have been an awfully good nurse, but I am perfectly capable of walking outside!” Geneva’s face was growing hot.
He was just as adamant. “Ye git chilled again, we may never git ye warm. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with goin’ in a pot. People do it all the time.”
“I’d rather go outside,” she said, squirming. “Please, Howard. I do not want to go in a pot! I mean it!”
He sighed, giving in. “Awright. Yew take the pot and go out on the porch, but don’t git wet. Yew can jist dump it out over the porch rail and leave the pot there for later. That do you?”
She nodded. This would work for now, but as soon as it cleared, she was headed for the deep woods. This was humiliating.
It was colder outside than she had imagined. He had made her put on his slicker, even though she promised not to venture past the porch roof, but nonetheless, she found herself shivering again by the time she had stepped back into the warm cabin
He did not scold, but wordlessly threw blankets around her, prepared more willow bark tea and tucked more mason jars filled with hot water around her feet and in her lap. She drank the tea, but this time it did not drive the aches from her muscles, and her throat became more raw as the afternoon wore on. Finally, she gave up trying to be good company and hunched by the fire, feeling sick and miserable.
Howard grew concerned. “Hit’s quit hailin’,” he said, squinting through the window. “But it looks like the rain may not slack off fer a while.” His face was grave. “I don’t think yer in any shape to ride back down this here mountain. I could leave ye here and run down and call yer folks, so they won’t worry about ye.”
Geneva shook her head. The throbbing had begun again, and her neck felt stiff and sore. Her whole body felt awful. It hurt to swallow. “It’s okay, Howard. Rachel and Wayne are gone all week. They won’t know if I don’t go back tonight.” She thought about Howard’s father. “But you can go on and leave me here. I know your dad will worry about you. Maybe you can come back for me in the morning.”
He considered this briefly. “No, my dad ain’t home neither. He’ll be stayin’ with Mammaw and Pappy fer a few days, to help Mammaw with her cannin’. I told him I’d be up here.”
“Oh,” said Geneva, relieved. As awkward as it might be to stay here with Howard overnight, she found it preferable to staying by herself in this lonely place. She glanced around, wondering where each of them would sleep.
He stood up. “Well, if we’re gonna stay here, I reckon I’d better get us some supper.” Picking up a rifle from the shelf, he loaded it, and after he had stirred the fire and added more logs, he put on a rain slicker and left through the back door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
He returned in less than that. It seemed that he had no more than stepped off the porch than Geneva heard the report of a shot and he returned with a fat squirrel and some vegetables from the garden out back. He prepared a hearty stew, but Geneva’s head had turned to lead by the time it was done, and she was too tired to take more than a few bites. As the day wore down, her fever rose, compounding the pain in her muscles and throat. Touching her face, Howard spoke to her in a soft, comforting voice, as if he were speaking to an invalid. “Yew got fever, awright. Yer face is hot as fire. Here, drink this down. We need to keep after this ‘un.”
Exhausted, she drank the portion of willow bark tea he had pressed on her and crawled gratefully under the covers of the fragrant bed. But she did not find sleep right away. Tired and weak as she was, she felt fully conscious and a little guilty at the knowledge that she had taken his bed.
“Howard, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you like this. I know I’ve taken over your bed, and you’ll have no place to sleep,” she murmured.
He eased himself onto the floor, leaning his back against the wall. “Hey, I’ve slept in worse places than on this here floor. Nothin’ makes me feel cozier’n a warm fire and a dry roof in weather like this. I’ll sleep like a prince.”
The long evening light the color of pewter fought its way through the rain, no longer violent, but now a steady monotonous downpour. Geneva looked out of the window and sighed. How long would she be like this? Feeling helpless, she put her hand to her burning eyes and gave a little, whimpering sigh.
A moment later, he was seated on the floor beside the bed, patting her arm and murmuring to her, “Ye’ll be alright, Miss Geneva. We got us all we need here, and ye’ll git well in no time. Yer young and strong. I bet ye’ll be gallopin’ right down this here mountain by tomorrow.”
She sighed gratefully, this time not letting it betray her despair. She would fight for her strength, and she would inconvenience him no longer than absolutely necessary.
He returned her smile, then settled down with his back against the bed and began speaking in a slow, low voice, full of the rhythms of the ancient mountains. She closed her eyes, listening to the cadence of the Appalachian tongue, mellowed by the ancient Celtic dialect, flavored more with the rich, proud strains of the Cherokee. He was well into his tale before she began to actually hear the meanings of the words.
“Fer every sickness,” he was saying, “God has provided a cure, right here in old Mother Nature’s lap. There’s an old story my Granny tole me ‘bout the gift of healin’ the spirits of the growin’ things have give to folks.
“Back a long time ago, when there was no evil in the world, back when old Lucifer wuz still the angel of light, before his pride ruint him and this world, there was no sickness. No germs, no way to fall and hurt yerself, no plagues or miseries. Then, Lucifer, he got all puffed up with pride, and he decided to be God, and he told all the creatures, all the livin’ things of the earth, the plants and the animals, he was better fer ‘em than God, that he cared more for ‘em than God did. God didn’t bother to come down and speak to His creatures like Lucifer did.
“Now, all livin’ things have spirits, jist like we do, and at that time, all could talk, and all lived in peace together. Up til the time old Lucifer started makin’ trouble, all the spirits of all the creatures and livin’ things used their voices to sing praises to God. Oh, it was a good place, this world, because sin had never come here.
“But pride was the first and worst sin. It made the angel of light turn into the father of all evil, and Lucifer tried to put pride in all the creatures so they’d rebel with him. Ye see, he knew that worship brings humility, and ye gotta have humility fer true worship. Once somebody starts thinkin’ they’re better’n anybody else, there’s hell to pay. They start lookin’ at themselves and what they want instead of lookin’ out to what God wants, or to what others need.
“Anyways, Lucifer, he went to all the trees and the rocks and the creatures and he said, ‘Why do yew worship God? He is no better’n yew. Yew got a mind and a will. Yew’ve got to be ‘bout as great as God, because ye can think for yerselves. Yew breed and create others like yerselves, in yer own image. Yew got great strength and power, like God, and God’s not interested in yew anymore ‘cause yew don’t need Him anymore. But I am interested in ye, and I want to make yew even more like God. I kin give ye knowledge and I kin teach yew how to take care of yerselves. Yew don’t even have to go by the old laws any more. They don’t mean nuthin’ to yew. Ye can make up yer own laws and govern yerselves.’
“Now, some of the plants and the animals listened to Lucifer. It had been a long time since God had come to visit with them, and some of ‘em thought the old liar wuz pretty smart. He was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen, and some of ‘em thought they understood what he wuz atalkin’ about when he told ‘em they could do the same things God could—that they could think and know things. And they could throw away all the old rules they really didn’t understand anyhow. And so pride entered the world, and things started goin’ wrong.
“Th’ Bible says that one third of all the angels fell with Lucifer, but it don’t say nothin’ about the livin’ things on earth. The story I heard says that one half of the livin’ bein’s here fell with him. Lucifer wanted to own heaven and earth, and he told those who follered him that he’d reward them with perfect knowledge.
“There wuz a big battle, and the rebel angels, bein’ more’n outnumbered, were kicked outta heaven, but they were not kicked outta earth. The fallen angels and the rebellin’ creatures together overcame those who stayed loyal to God, and they struck all their good brothers on earth mute ‘cause they couldn’t stand hearin’ ‘em sing their praisin’ songs.
“Fer awhile, the earth wuz an awful place. Evil flew around all over the world, growing stronger and stronger, and persecutin’ all that give allegiance to God. Spirits turned into germs and viruses and evil thoughts that afflicted and tortured all the holy creatures.
“But God didn’t let things stay that way long. While He wouldn’t make evil leave the world, He did give those who had stayed loyal to him special powers to push evil back. First of all, He created a new place on the earth free from all evil: the Garden of Eden, and he allowed all the good creatures and things to live there. Then he gave them man and woman to care for ‘em in place of Lucifer. And all of the people and creatures and growin’ things sang His praises agin’ fer awhile.
“Yew know what happened next. Evil got into the garden, too, and Adam and Eve. Old Satan got to them and they fell into sin, and they had to leave, and the garden disappeared. And Adam and Eve and all their children, they suffered from the evil spirits that tormented ‘em all their days. Everthing that’s bad, it comes from the Prince of the Air and all his minions. Everthing—sickness, bad thoughts, hurts. But God, He give us all some last defenses. He give the trees and the plants who still love him the power to heal. To th’ willer, he give the gift to ease pain and bring down fever, to foxglove, a cure for the bad heart. Mint and chamomile bring ease of mind and sleep.” He laughed. “Hemp helps the eyes—and helps people git acquainted. Plain old bread mold cures serious infections. Nearly every growin’ thing has a good use, whether to sustain life or to use as medicines. And that’s the gift God give to ‘em.”
He fell silent for a time, then reached under the covers with a tentative hand to feel Geneva’s foot, but she was feeling too drowsy to mind.
He continued, “My other granny, the Cherokee, used to say that the creatures still have voices and that ye just have to know how to listen to hear ‘em. My great-grandpa, he knew how to drive away evil spirits. That’s why he was the medicine man of his tribe. Nowadays, folks say that’s a pack of foolishness, but I’ve seen him heal the sick with jist an incantation, a prayer that rebukes the bad spirits. He called on the power of the Creator Spirit, the God of all who made the world. And my great granny—I never knew her—but they say she used to listen to the spirits of the trees, and she used to dance with ‘em when they sang.”
“Like Narnia,” murmured Geneva.
“Yes,” he replied. “Like Narnia. I reckon that’s the way the world used to be.”
She was growing warm when he eased away to light a lantern and sit by the fire. She noticed him only as one notices a benign bedside presence during an illness. He was there if she needed him, and content with that, she snuggled down into the bed of healing herbs and slept.
But the good sleep did not last long. First, she grew hot, and she dreamed she was standing right in the hot coals of hell, with Lucifer and hideous spirits dancing around her, but then she was transported to a frigid place, and she found herself swimming through dangerous, icy rivers. The fear and pain grew more intense until she finally woke, shivering, to see Howard seated by the fire, reading by lantern light. He was so still that he seemed to be two dimensional, as if he were merely a cardboard figure stuck against the wall. Presently he turned a page. Once he smiled.
“I’m cold.”
He looked up, startled, then with his smooth movements, he strode to her and touched her face. “Chills and fever, and stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, “and this willer bark tea ain’t doin’ ye much good. Let’s try somethin’ else.”
He made her another bitter drink. “Boneset,” he told her after she had questioned the contents. “Boneset fer the fever, squawroot for the sore throat. A little ginseng ta warm ye in a hurry. And mint and honey,” he added. “Bitter as it is, it’d be awful without ‘em.”
She drank it dutifully, then lay back, huddled in the bed, waiting for it to take effect. Howard returned to his place beside the fire.
“What are you reading?”
“Gray Bear.”
“Is it good?”
“I think so. Want to hear some?”
“Sure.”
He began reading. He had read for a full minute before she realized he was reading poetry—and reading it well. It made no sense to her, tangled as her brain was with fatigue and fever, but his voice was soothing as it spoke of sky and water and the mighty buffalo. She began to grow sleepy.
“Howard?” she said, feeling the warmth seep into her bones again.
“Yes?”
“Do you live here or something?”
“Why do ye ask?”
“You have so much stuff here, as if you are doing more than just camping. This is almost like a home.”
His answer was long in coming. “I suppose I do live here most of the time, good weather, anyway.” He laid aside his book and picked up a guitar.
“Why? You can get here easily from your house. Is there something here that makes you want to stay all the time?”
Again he was silent while he strummed chords and gazed long into the fire. At first she thought he had not heard her, or had forgotten her, but at length his voice came to her as if from far away.
“Geneva, I guess yew know about the Greek gods?”
She was getting sleepier. “The gods?”
“Way back, afore Jesus, the Greeks and the Romans had a buncha gods. Not like the Indian spirits, but gods sort of like spoiled people with a lotta power.”
She opened her eyes, surprised. “Yes, I know about them.”
“Well, there was this one fella, Prometheus, and he did something that made the gods real mad.”
“Yes. Gave people fire,” she yawned.
“That’s him. Anyways, you know what they did to him?”
Her brain was beginning to function very slowly. She looked lazily into her memory, but it was too much effort. “Think so,” she droned.
“They chained him to a mountain and made him stay there til they got tired of punishin’ him. The gods hoped to make him suffer, but he surprised ‘em. When people come by, he’d do what he could to help ‘em. And I bet that sometimes he didn’t mind being there, on top of the world, even though birds would come and peck at him.”
“Oh yes. Prometheus.” She yawned.
He gazed into the fire again. “In a way,” he said softly. “I’m like him. I’m chained to this here mountain, fer awhile, anyway.” He fell silent for a long time. “But I don’t mind,” he finally added. “Hit sets me free, too.” She could not make sense of it, nor did she try. His music made her drift along its gentle currents, and she was feeling warm and downy.
Sometime later, she woke again suddenly, shivering and hurting. The night was deep and still around her. Howard slept by the dying embers, wrapped loosely in a single blanket on the bare floor. She lay still until her teeth began to chatter, then she rose and tiptoed as quietly as she could toward the wood pile. He awoke as she lifted the first log.
“I’ll do that, Miss Geneva,” he asserted, wide awake and on his feet. “Yew git on back in the bed.” Hurriedly, he replenished the fire while she sank gratefully back into the bed. It was so cold up here, even in August, with the dampness seeping through the logs, the fog shrouding the cabin like a clammy hand. It was impossible to get warm, even after Howard brought her more tea and tucked the blankets up around her chin and rubbed her feet with hands he had warmed by the fire. When her teeth began to chatter, he ordered her to sit by the fire while he pulled the mattress off the bed and dragged it to the hearth. She lay on it, and he lay beside her, pulling all the blankets over them and wrapping his arms tightly around her shaking body. Gratefully, she snuggled against him and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Toward morning she woke again, lifted so gently into consciousness that it was some time before she was aware she was awake. Opening her eyes, she saw Howard’s face above her, his eyes bright in the pale morning.
“Yer fever’s gone,” he said quietly, touching her cheek.
She stared at him a long time as if through a misty tunnel. She did not recognize him immediately, for seeing him made her forget the present and think of being very young and lying in a moonbeam. The pale morning light fell on his face, which was full of gentle goodness. “You’re beautiful,” she said drowsily.
He was amused. “Likely that’s the first and last time I ever heard that. Yew reckon boneset’s got somethin’ in it I don’t know ‘bout?”
“I mean it,” she said sadly. “This is twice you’ve rescued me, and you’ve spent all night taking care of me. I’ve treated you so badly. I really am sorry, Howard. I hate to think how foolish I’ve been.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Now, honey, yer sick and feelin’ helpless. Hit’s made ye blue. Yew never hurt me none. I’m pleased to spend time with ye. And hit’s the God’s truth, yer the beautiful one. I could look at ye all night.”
“You really don’t think badly of me?”
He chuckled. “Lord no. Matter of fact, ye remind me of my second wife.”
Geneva felt worse. “Lenora said there wasn’t anything to her. She ran off with a musician.”
“Mammaw didn’t know the whole story. Aster gave me a awful lot, and she was real good to me when I needed her. She got me through a rough time after my first wife died, and I just begged her to marry me, knowin’ she’d never stay.”
“Why would she want to leave you?”
He answered her thoughtfully. “She needed more than I, or anybody, could give her. Seems like she was always searchin’ for somethin’, and it seemed like she couldn’t love me but with jist a piece of herself.” He stopped, his eyes pained, then he smiled. “I’m kindly like Jimmy Lee’s old dog. I love somebody and that’s all there is. Cain’t help but love a woman with my whole self—heart, liver, brain, gut, all of it. There’s nothin’ else but to find ways to love her more. I wanted to have a passel of younguns just so there’d be more of her around.
“My first wife, she understood that, and she felt the same way.” His face softened with happiness. “It was like she was me and I was her.” He fell silent and his eyes clouded as he seemed to look far away into some infinitely sad and desolate place. At last he continued, “When she died, the losin’ was so awful. Not just a piece of me was gone. All of me was gone.” His voice grew quiet again, more distant. “I was so lost I nearly went crazy.
“Then I met Aster. She was different. Seemed like she loved everthing she saw, and more besides. Like she had to go out and find new things all the time ‘cause it wuz all so good.” He gazed into the fire and his voice floated to her from far away. “But that was one of the best things about her. She seemed so—,” he groped, then found the word he was looking for, “elusive. Elusive, but real. Bright. Fierce, the way she went after everthing. She was kinda like when yew see the reflection of the sun in the water when the actual sun is hid. It’s prettier than the sun, and brighter, but it’s not really there. Seemed like I spent all our time together jist watchin’ her and tryin’ ta figure out how to really touch her without disturbin’ the water. I didn’t have much time with her, but it was enough. She give me back the will to live.”
“But she only stayed for a few months?”
“She knew me. She knew the longer she stayed, the worse her leavin’ would hurt me, so she took off afore I could git too used to her. I don’t blame her. I coulda been the King of Siam, and she still woulda left to whatever called her. I knew the first day I met her I couldn’t hold her.” He smiled. “Didn’t stop me tryin’, though.”
“You think I’m restless and searching like that?”
“Ye got a brightness about ye, too. Jist the way ye look at the sky, and you ain’t content jist to look. You want it. The way ye looked at that car yer boyfriend brought ye. And that other man, John.” His face furrowed as he tried to explain. “It’s like ye got a greedy soul,” he said, then hastened to add, “but in a good way. It gives ye that brightness, that look of being real alive.”
She felt like sobbing. “I don’t want to be restless and greedy. I want to just stop and be happy wherever I am. It’s like I’m afraid something wonderful is out there, and I might miss it. And sometimes I feel like I’m running away from something as much as I’m running toward something else.” She closed her eyes, but the tears squeezed out between her lids. “I don’t like the feeling. I want to be content. I want to rest.”
He placed his fingertips on her lips. “Awright, honey, yew hush now, and jist rest right here. I didn’t mean ta hurt yer feelin’. I like ye the way ye are. And ye kin rest all ye want right here. I bet someday ye’ll find something that’ll make yew want to sit still.”
She wanted to say more, to cry out that she did not know what made her this way. Could he take away whatever it was that made her want so much? That made her so cruel to good people? That thistle in her soul. The tears welled up hot in her eyes and she drew a ragged breath. She felt his arms go around her as she burrowed her face in the smooth hollow of his throat, and she sobbed until she fell asleep.
When she woke again, he was gone. The sun streamed through the open door, and a fragrant morning, suffused with silver light, rose to greet her. Geneva, suddenly famished, lightheaded, and with an enormous pressure in her bladder, got up and stumbled out of the door.
He was just outside, splitting logs. The sun warmed his hair to a deep chocolate brown, the copper skin glistened on his smooth arms as he raised an ax in the air to pause in a high arc before the muscles bunched and brought the ax down. Geneva stopped to appreciate the scene only for a moment before she murmured to him and hurried into the woods to relieve herself.
She felt so weak she had to sit down before she could make it back to the cabin. Breathing hard, her hair hanging in her face, her mouth tasting like dry, moldy bread, she sat, shaking with cold and fatigue, wondering how long she would have to remain here, how long it would be before she would be able to rise and make her way back to the cabin. How much longer would it be before she could ride back down the mountain?
Howard appeared through the spruce like a bright shadow, and without a word he strode toward her and lifted her as effortlessly as if he were lifting a child. There was silence all around; even her eyes and heart were mute and calm like a still, cloudless sky. Her arms went around his neck and she leaned her head into his shoulder, listening to the sweet silence. When he carried her into the cabin and laid her onto the bed, Geneva felt as if she were returning to a plush, much loved home. She rolled over and fell asleep almost immediately.
The morning and early afternoon slipped in and out again occasionally, but never disturbing her rest. She passed the time as an invalid, waking only enough to eat, drink, and go outside to relieve herself. Howard kept the fire hot and endlessly pressed her with what seemed like gallons of water in which he had steeped a variety of herbs, both pleasant-tasting and foul. By the time the sun had crested, she had begun to feel considerably better; by the time the shadows had lengthened, she felt well enough to be bothered by a general feeling of grunginess. Her hair hung limply in strings, and her teeth felt like they were wearing sweaters.
He brought her another cup of tea. Sighing, she took it, then rubbed her finger over her front teeth. “Howard, do you have a toothbrush? I’m just dying to brush my teeth.”
“Yeah, I got a toothbrush,” he smiled. “Jist a minute.” He left and returned presently. “Here,” he said, handing her a stick and a few leaves. “Sweet gum. Chew on this. The wood fuzzes up and ye kin brush yer teeth jist as pretty as ye please. Chew on this mint, too. Yer mouth’ll be sweet in no time.”
Taking this oral hygiene remedy, she walked down to the spring to give it a try. To her surprise, it worked rather nicely. It took longer than a real toothbrush, but that did not matter. Up here time lay languidly in the air; it did not hurry by, and there was no need to run after it. This place was sweet. Sweet and safe and good. She wandered back through the cool, dappled shade, chewing the mint leaves, breathing the spruce-scented air, and feeling the healing sun upon her face. It felt good to sit in the clear, thin air and feel her strength welling up in her limbs like an incoming tide rising higher and higher upon the parched sand.
She stayed out too long, and no doubt concerned about her absence, Howard came looking for her. She saw him striding through the branches, searching, and he seemed so much in control, so comfortable in his own forest, at one with the trees, the sky, the very rock upon which he stood that she wished she could be like him. Real. Connected. Certain in time and place and circumstance. A sudden tingling pricked her flesh, and she regretted that she had ever left these hills, that she had polluted her mountain spirit with the tawdry glitter of the past few years.
Although she was sitting low amid some rocks in a sheltered place, Howard’s scanning eyes found her. He strode to her, concern on his face, but when he saw her smiling, he relaxed and dropped down beside her. Together they gazed into the deep blue spruce and the sparkling, new-washed sky. Geneva wanted to stretch out on the rocks and lie there all day, so content did she feel. They sat quietly, side by side for a long time.
At length, he spoke. “Geneva, I reckon I owe yew an apology. I told ye I had me a hemp patch up here. I don’t blame ye fer thinkin’ I wuz a outlaw.”
He was tense, and his face seemed drawn. “To tell ye the truth, I do have somethin’ like a cash crop up here, and I know ye’ve been wonderin’ how I got me all this land, and a nice house down in the holler.”
She had already forgiven him his hemp patch. “You don’t have to tell me, Howard,” she said. “I was just sick and irritable yesterday. It’s none of my business.”
He took a deep breath, “No. I owe this to ye, cause I lied to ye before. And now, I’m gonna tell ye the truth, and I’m gonna trust ye to not tell nobody, nobody atall, not yer sister, or yer mama or daddy. People find out about this, and all hell will break loose.”
“What is it, Howard? What could be worse than a marijuana patch?”
“Not worse. Better. A lot better. Come here. Let me show ye somethin’. Kin ye walk?” She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. Holding her hand, he led her a hundred paces to the creek, then they turned upstream to walk another several hundred yards to a wild, deep canyon where the stream roared through a gash in towering, streaked rock. Huge boulders lay around; large veins of quartz ran through most of them, and just before them lay piles and piles of quartz rocks and gravel gleaming white and fresh in the afternoon sun. Near the rocks, in the stream, lay a contraption just like those she had seen in the cabin. She realized it was a sluice box. A shovel leaned in a grotto nearby.
Without a word he thrust the shovel into the gravel and sprinkled the white stones into the box. The water boiled around the gravel as it rolled downward. He watched the stones bounce, then easily, almost casually, he leaned forward and plucked out one, then two, then three lumps of brilliant gold, the smallest of which was the size of a pea. Taking Geneva’s hand, he placed them in her palm.
“This here’s my cash crop,” he said. “I’ve hauled out nearly eighteen million in the last two years, but all that’s left now is placer gold. Enough, I reckon, to live on and take care of my family, but I won’t be buyin’ much more land.” He shrugged. “Reckon I got enough, anyway.”
The sun, glinting on the gold in her hand, swarmed up to her eyes and made her dizzy. Had he just told her he was a millionaire? Eighteen million? The fact would not register. She gazed at the irregular lumps, weighty in her palm, trying to compute their value. “You mean to tell me you’ve kept this a secret, pulling eighteen million dollars worth of gold out of here?”
He shook his head. “Hit ain’t been easy. Only the family knows about it, and they been helpin’ me work it. We pulled the last of the big stuff out o’ the mine last spring,” he said, indicating a dark opening in the face of the cliff to his left. “It warn’t a very big pocket, but you’d be surprised how far a little gold will go.” He thrust the shovel into the pile of gravel again and sprinkled the stones into the sluice box. “I go down to Harrisonburg ever few weeks to the assayer’s, and I set me up a few corporations to turn it into land. Won’t nobody know who’s bought all of it till I stop, when all this gold’s played out.” He pulled out two more shiny yellow pebbles.
Geneva was astonished. “But why do you live like this? I mean, you’re rich, and you just stay up here, driving a beat up old truck, when you could be traveling the world, living it up.”
He smiled his quick smile, which she was beginning to recognize as an integral part of him. “I been in the world, ma’am, and I ain’t got much truck with it. Hit’s land I want, land that I know I kin leave to my children and their children, all down the line, and they kin live on it, knowin’ what the world’s supposed to look like. I reckon I’ll spend ever dime I kin scratch out o’ here on it, or till I buy up ever tree and ever creek left wild.” He looked at her, his eyes liquid. “Kin I trust ye, Geneva? I reckon they ain’t but a few hunnert thousand dollars worth left, maybe five or six, eight at the outside, but if word gits out, they’ll be people crawlin’ all over here, for miles, settin’ up machines, skeerin’ off the game, trashin’ the place up. I’ll have ta put up a fence, maybe git some guards. Somebody’ll likely git shot. Who knows how much more gold this old mountain is hidin’ in her womb? And they’s still a lot of gold left in the rocks. Folks’ll be wantin’ it.” He indicated the quartz piled high at intervals along the creek bank. “But to git all of it takes a process that’ll poison the creek and the ground, and I don’t aim to try for it. Maybe someday I’ll haul it outta here to a factory where they kin do it safe, but not here, not now. Kin I trust ye not to tell a soul, not a livin’, breathin’ soul? Not even yer sister? Not yer boyfriend?” His eyes gleamed desperately.
Geneva gazed at the place around her. A hundred feet away stood a high bank of quartz rock, shining white in the late sun. Beyond that was the mine, which violated the pristine cliff. To her, the piles of gravel and rock, the deep gash in the cliff, already looked obscene here in the verdant hillside, fragrant with the smell of spruce and humus. She imagined people running around wildly, dragging wheelbarrows full of rock and gravel into the stream of sweet water, throwing garbage into the chipmunk burrows, pouring chemicals upon the ferns. She vowed reverently that she would never tell a soul, even hint to anyone about the treasure that lay scattered upon the surface of this mountain.
“Howard, I swear. No one will ever even suspect there might be something here. Not from me.”
He nodded once, then dropped his serious façade. “Yew ever pan fer gold?”
“I’ve never seen it done.”
“Here, let me pour some more gravel through this here sluice box, so ye’ll have enough to pan for. If ye’ll help me, we kin go through a lot o’ gravel in a little while.”
He instructed Geneva to watch the gravel bouncing and rolling down the waffle ridges in the sluice box as he dumped shovelful after shovelful of gravel upon it. “I bust up the rocks, and that kindly separates out the gold, then we sluice it fer the big pieces. Yew watch fer gold as it runs down. It’s heavier, so the small stuff gets caught in these here little pockets, but the bigger stuff rolls on down. Yew gotta catch ‘em as they slide by.”
He demonstrated, and Geneva caught on quickly. Soon she was snatching gold out of the boiling water as quickly as she used to gather daisies as a child. Before long she had collected a handsome pile of heavy nuggets.
“Now we kin pan us some, go for what’s trapped in the box,” explained Howard as he dismantled the box over a bucket and separated a piece of carpeting, which he rinsed in the bucket.
Retrieving a gold pan from the creek bank, he scooped up the fine dirt and gravel from the bucket and placed it in the pan. Holding it under water, he shook it, swirled the ore, then poured off the rocks, dirt, and water. Three times he repeated the process until the pan was empty save for black sand, and Geneva could see, small chunks of brilliant yellow gold. He washed the gold again, finally eliminating all the sand. What was left was a quarter of a cup of nuggets and fine grains of gold that he poured in a quart mason jar, like so much honey to set on his cabin shelf for winter feasting. Geneva thought of how it would look sitting there, the firelight dancing upon it and turning the grains from the color of the sun to the color of roses. The thought thrilled all of her senses.
He allowed her to pan for half an hour, until they had emptied the bucket of all its ore and had filled the jar half full of treasure. Then he straightened. “Ye look a little tired. We’d better stop,” he said. “Here,” he added, handing the jar to her. “I reckon I ought to pay ye yer wages fer yer work.”
She took it, marveling at its weight and the beauty of its contents. She would put the gold in a special crystal container and set it upon her fireplace mantel, or she might wear some of it in a vial around her neck, or she could have it molded into a special piece of jewelry… She felt the blood rise hot in her face as she contemplated the value of it.
But a second thought niggled, and then shouted at her. She could not show it to another living soul, lest they deduce its place of origin. A battle raging between lust for the treasure and the desire to protect Howard’s trust sprang up like a hot and violent holy war. At last she shook her head, half hoping he would insist.
“No, Howard. I’d better not. Somebody will see it and want to know where it came from.” Reluctantly, she handed it back to him.
“Oh. Then here, take some of these. Yew kin have something made out of ‘em, or sell ‘em someplace.” He tried to press several of the larger nuggets upon her.
Geneva longed for them. Never had she seen anything more beautiful than the glint of real gold in the late light, newly plucked from where it had lain for millions of years. But she shook her head again, turning away from the precious metal in his open palm. “No,” she repeated. “I’d rather remember it this way.” She released her breath, feeling righteous and cleansed.
Then she looked down at the swirling waters and felt herself go limp. Sitting down suddenly, she clutched a boulder and let her head hang between her shoulders.
He was all at once solicitous. “I’ve kept ye out too long, and workin’ to boot,” he said, chiding himself. “Kin ye make it back, or do ye want me ta carry ye?” He moved toward her.
Her brain was whirling as if she were drunk, or she thought, with a brief moment of illumination, as if she were stoned. The thought of being lifted into Howard’s powerful arms, nestled against his smooth chest, to hear his heart beat and feel the way he glided though the forest. The thoughts, the thoughts… She wasn’t sure what the thoughts were about or what they were doing to her. She looked at him mutely, appealing, wanting to feel his arms around her and be carried back to the cabin. She wanted to feel his skin on the palms of her hands…
He was standing over her, now bending close. She could smell his sweat, musky and sweet, could see the hard jaw and the stubble there, black against the copper. His cheekbones seemed carved of wood, his nose aquiline and proud. She saw red spirals rushing at her from gold light, and she reached for him.