It Was 2052, High Haven (22 page)

“
Paint? Paint---Co”
said Coleby.

“
Sure,”
said Cole and sat him on the floor. The child went right to a hook
where a little paint stained smock hung, his grandmother had made it
for him to cover his clothes when he was being artistic. Cole helped
him into it, sat him on a s
quatty
stool in front of a big canvas. Looking at the canvas already
splotched and streaked with dried paint,
the
artist
said, “You have the unique talent of your mother, boy.”

Bubba's laugh came from
the doorway, “You got that right.”

Cole said, “Hey,
maybe the child is a Picasso---know who that is?” he reached
for a book in a stack on the table in front of the sofa that had
once been Taylor's bed. He opened it to a page that gave a biography
of the famous twentieth century artist, “It's wonderful, all
these books. I can't make up my mind when to paint and when to read.”

The people who came to
the library often moved around quietly and observed the painter that
had learned to block them out, always focused on his current project.
Many had asked him to give them art lessons, but the self absorbed
artist wasn't interested so far. He occupied one of the vacated
bedrooms in Jeff and Emily's house and the arrangement seemed to suit
them all. The library had become a place of books and art and
sometimes music, someone had moved an old out of tune piano into a
corner. Cole was somewhat of a community celebrity and especially
the young of the scattered families loved to gather there.

“
I
don't seem to ever find the time to read. Have to get a lot better
at that when it's time to teach short stuff.
Would
it be okay if the boy stays a while? We need to got over to Cissy and
Taylor's. He'll pitch a fit if we drag him away r
ight
now.”

The painter turned the
pages of the book, already distracted.

“
Cole?”

“
Hm? Oh yeah, sure.
I'll watch him.” Coleby was completely entertained, made bold
slashes, actually getting some paint on the canvas.

Peaches met the couple
half way across the meadow, Cissy waved from the porch and Taylor
stood in the doorway. The couple had come to invite them to Coleby's
first birthday party. Of course, like everyone else, they wouldn't
miss it. Taylor already worked on a wooden case with a handle for
the young painter's brushes and paint.

She watched Bubba walk
away across the meadow, Lindsey's hand in his. She actually had a
memory of being at the man's first birthday. Shortly after she had
arrived here with her new family, it was a gathering that had made
her feel she would be safe and loved in this place. Now, there was
Coleby. Even though she and Taylor wouldn't have a child, there
would be plenty in the
family
to love.

Cissy walked out across
the sweeping meadow, lost in her own thoughts. A couple of mule deer
browsed in the shade of the evergreens. It had been months and there
was no way of knowing how the new town of Secret was doing. Maybe
sometime in the future, there would be another trip to the high
mountains to find out. Even though the artist seemed to be settled
and happy here, wouldn't he want to see his aunt and know how the
people of the town had fared? Perhaps they would go see Pastor Poe.

Taylor caught up to her,
“Want to come with me to Kevin's---thought I'd help him with
that well he's been digging.”

“
Sure, I'll talk to
Suzanne about the baby's birthday party.” Turning in the
direction of her brother's house, “Hon, what did you think
about the news the supply carriers brought back from the city?”
The two men who had taken their turn and made a trip to the city for
provisions returned with stories of the US military moving into the
city. They talked of a clean up campaign, of all out battles in the
streets.

“
I don't know what
to think. Of course, my father was in the military all those years
ago and he was proud of it. If the government is trying to
re-establish and create some order, it should be a good thing. No
doubt, the city is a rough and dangerous place. You don't have to
worry anymore about Kevin or even Bubba taking off to join up. Those
two won't be leaving their families,” said Taylor.

“
But, if they keep
pushing the bad folks out of the cities, won't it just be a matter of
time before they seek out other strongholds? You know, predators
always seek out fresh prey.” She had never completely erased
from her memory, the evil and desperate inhabitants of the government
camp in Texas, though she rarely had thoughts of the place.
“Shouldn't we be vigilant---what if they find the community,
Taylor? You did.”

He stopped, pulled her to
him and turned her toward the open meadow, green and yellow with
early summer grasses and wildflowers. The home they built snugged
down against the low hill in the distance and beyond their stand of
trees, the majestic peaks rose, encircled the community. His arms
clasped tightly around her shoulders and his deep voice spoke, “This
is our place and no one else's, our sanctuary. Our families would
fight to the death to preserve the peace and safety.”

Cissy believed him. The
day that this man and the big dog walked up the road and into her
view was the most fortunate of her life. She thought of Cole's
painting of the two of them that hung in their small living space,
both of them on the back of one the dapple gray mares. In the
painting, her hands rested on her legs and Taylor's wrapped around
her waist, held the reins. The mare was in a slow gallop, their hair
free from ties, twisted in the wind and both looked intently ahead at
some far destination. She twisted to face him, her arms snaked around
his waist and pulled him up close,
He is mine and this place will
always be our high haven.

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