Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (14 page)

“You all right?”
I ask as we take a seat in the circle of benches.

“Not sure,” she whispers.

I check out the others and see the distinction of groups.
There are two other sets of couples and a group of six college age guys.
Frat boys, maybe.
Everyone nods and says various greetings
while looking around for what’s next.

“
Whatcha
reckon is in that big
pot?” someone asks. All kinds of speculative answers follow.

A brunette woman pipes in, “I don’t think I want to know.”
Her face is all drawn up like Julia’s. The guy beside her is trying to control
his grin just as I am.

We are murmuring about it but hush all at once when a
curious squeaking sound approaches. A woman appears from the dusky woods,
pulling a rusty cart behind her. The wheels on that thing could use a can of
WD40. And the woman—wow. Her long stringy hair seems to entwine with her
equally black dress that drags the ground. There’s thin braids randomly weaved
into it haphazardly. Her eyes are darkened with black makeup and the flames
from the fire add wicked shadows over her features. She looks young but
weathered.

She pulls bowls from the cart and begins filling them with
the stew and starts passing them out without one word. The brunette tries to
decline her bowl but gives in when the witchy woman mutters gravelly, “You
refuse your bowl,
you
pay the toll.”

Julia and I are served last and I’m excited to see what my
girl does. I take my bowl happily and watch on.

Julia waves her prissy hand out to shoo the bowl away. “No
thanks.” She rolls her eyes at me before looking back at the woman.

“Food.
Food to eat or consequences you will meet.” She’s in a
staring,
or more closely a glaring, showdown with Julia.

“No thanks,” Julia repeats slowly as though the woman might
be too ignorant to comprehend. I’m thinking that’s not very wise.

The woman looks dramatically up to the sky and nods her
head. “It is done.” As she says this the sky is split with a streak of
lightning, which is followed by a mean growl of thunder. Julia jumps and I have
to cover a laugh with a cough.
Serves her right.

After giving everyone a can of water and another map, the
woman stands by her cart and mutters, “Clean bowls of each spot, then place
into the pot.” She then grabs the cart and leaves us.

Once the last empty bowl is placed in the cauldron, the
flame all at once extinguishes and leaves us in the pitch dark. Julia
automatically grabs ahold of my hand and steps closer to me. One by one the
crowd switches on flashlights.

“What’s that saying?” One of the college guys asks. “You
don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

We all chuckle nervously. “I guess it’s time to check those maps
out,” I say. I hand over the flashlight to Julia and unfold the map. There are
three different paths out of this open air rotunda. Our map directs us to the
path under a trellis of dead vines. So we head out while everyone else takes
the other paths. One other couple joins us on our way.

I extend my hand to introduce my rebellious companion and
myself. “I’m Greyson and this is Julia.” I shake the guy’s hand, then the
brunette’s hand.

“Scotty,” the guys says and motions to the brunette. “This
is my wife, Sally.”

She gives him a look and nods her head. He chuckles as she
says, “This is supposed to be a second honeymoon, but clearly my husband
doesn’t understand the meaning of romantic.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I thought romantic means leaving
the young’uns at home.”

We all laugh and hesitantly head down the trail. We walk in
the spooky dark while all kinds of screeching animal sounds surround us. I
don’t know if it’s a special effect or for real. All I know is Julia won’t let
go of my shirt. Yep. She’s scared.

After a brief silence, Scotty teases Julia, “I don’t know if
it’s wise to be paired with you guys. Who knows what trouble you caused by not
eating.”

“My sentiments exactly,” I say in agreement. “I think we
should leave her.”

Julia wrings my shirt tighter in her fist. “Don’t even think
about it,” she warns.

We eventually make it to a ramshackle of a lake cabin. The
walls are all but gone and an old lady with long tangled gray hair sits rocking
in a chair in front of a small fireplace. She is facing us and her features are
masked under what looks like a witch’s hat with a shorter cone shape on top.
Her dress is long and tattered as the other woman’s from supper. Half a dozen
chairs in various styles and stages of deterioration form a half circle around
her. She says not a word but gestures to the chairs.

“These mountain people are of little words,” Sally whispers
as we take the chairs farthest away from the old lady.

We sit in silence for a few beats before she starts talking.
“Settlers found their way to these here parts many moons ago.
In the mid-seventeen hundreds.”
Her drawl is so thick, I
find myself leaning forward to try to understand her better. “It’s said a group
of a hundred or so came seeking to take over this here land. They came in this
wooded valley and were never seen again. No bodies ever found. All their
supplies were discovered scattered all over the woods. But not one settler was
found. Legend says them folks angered the spirits of the woods with
overhuntin
’ the land wastefully. So the woods took back
what was lost as best they could.” Her voice is so raspy and languid, like it’s
taking a lot of effort to get the story out. “The humans were sacrificed. Now
their spirits are bound to these parts for eternity.” She pauses here to add a
small log to the fire. Sparks crackle and pop around plumes of smoke. “Folks
come in these witching woods. And
them
spirits of those settlers get restless.
Restless.”
With that, she hushes and just keeps rocking lazily.

We sit not knowing what to do, when all of a sudden the
empty chairs fall over. Julia is now in my lap and her chair joins the rest of
the upturned ones.

“Restless,” the old lady repeats. “That
ain’t
good. It’s best you get back to where you
was
.” She
holds out a map with what I’m guessing is an alligator skull on the outside and
one with the goat skull. I take the goat and Scotty takes the alligator. I’m
wondering why an alligator skull, but I decide it’s best to ask no questions.

We all gather our stuff and exit, parting ways in the late
night. Julia and I walk along with me holding my flashlight to the path and
Julia waving hers around nervously. She keeps stepping on my heels and I bark
at her a few times to knock it off. Of course, we hear footsteps behind us but
can never find anyone. And every so often an animal of some sort screeches into
the night. It’s well past midnight by the time we make it to our site and I’m
tired.
And all of a sudden, annoyed.
We find our tent
tied up in the trees and all of our belongings scattered on the ground.

“No,” Julia whines out as she starts tossing her clothes
back in her bag.

I scan the light around and find a note speared onto the
goat’s horn. “Look what you did,” I say and point to the note that simply
states,
consequences
. “Great. Just
great,
Thorton
.” I take my hat off and toss it on the
ground in aggravation. “I’ve been paying consequences for your stupid actions
this entire trip!”

“What are you talking about? You bring things on yourself!”
She yells as she waves her bag in the air.

And I swear to you, I near about pass out when
something
comes out of nowhere and
swipes Julia’s bag right out of her hand, disappearing into the dark as quickly
as it appeared. I may have let out a yelp like a sissy, but her screams cover
it. She’s doing a panicky dance and launches herself into my arms, wrapping her
legs around my waist.

Once she settles, I say, “Maybe you might want to eat your
supper next time.” She agrees by nodding her head that’s buried in the side of
my neck. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest.

“It took all of my stuff,” she stutters out. I have no
answer or comfort on that, so I say nothing.

I wait awhile to make sure the visitor doesn’t decide to
return before setting Julia down and go to work on untying the tent. It’s not
really complicated. Whoever strung it up did so in a way that would make it
easy for me to get it down. Once I get the tent reset and our stuff inside, we
crash. These Witching Woods have worn me out.

I’ve been laying here for about an hour when I get up to go
outside.

“Where are you going?” Julia asks from her sleeping bag.

“I
gotta
pee,” I admit and head
out to find her following me. “I’m a big boy. I can handle this on my own.”

“
No
. I’ve watched
enough movies. The one person leaves the other one alone and never returns.
You’re not getting out of my sight.”

“No,” I say firmly.

“Yes,” she says and won’t let go of the back of my shirt.

“Really,
Thorton
.
I can’t pee with you…” I’d just go back to bed and hold it,
but that’s what I’ve already been doing for the last hour. I can’t hold it any
longer.

I stand on the edge of the clearing. “Can you at least let
go of my shirt?”

“No,” she declares.

“I know you don’t understand boundaries, but this isn’t
courteous. I need some space. I’m… shy.”

“No,” she repeats. “I can’t see anything. It’s dark. Just go
right ahead, honey.”

We go around and around for minutes that feel like hours. So
after coming close to wetting myself, I give in and pee. I’m not happy about
it, either.

“I don’t like you,” I gruff out.

We go back to bed in the tent but get very little sleep. Our
tent door keeps mysteriously unzipping until early morning. I have to admit,
it’s pretty creepy. Needless to say, Julia ends up curled inside my sleeping
bag with me.

~~~~

Waking up in the late morning, I find Julia watching me.
She’s cradled in my arms and I have to admit, it feels right. “Good morning,” I
whisper.

“We survived,” she whispers back.

“We did, didn’t we?” I smile.

“Thank you.”

“I
know
you didn’t
just thank me for this craziness I got us into.” I notice tears swimming in her
eyes and then I get it. I understand what she’s thanking me for.

“It’s the first anniversary I faced sober.”

A tear releases from one of her frosty-blue eyes. I wipe it
away. “I told you you’re not an island. You
can
survive. I want to survive it with you. Sweetheart, you don’t have to do it
alone.” I pull Julia securely in my embrace, letting her grief wash over us.
This is a moment that needs no rushing. As I hold her, the realization
clarifies that neither one of us will be the same at the end of this journey.

It’s getting close to our pick up time, so I reluctantly
release Julia and go to climb out of the tent and stop with what I find.
Laughing, I say, “They brought your stuff back.”

Julia pops her head out and groans. Her clothes are now
being worn by a puny scarecrow in our small yard. She slaps my arm playfully.
“That’s not funny!”

The driver pulls back up without a word as soon as we have
everything packed up and he hauls us back to the RV. I load Julia and all the
stuff in the RV and go inside the office to check us out.

As I sign off on the paper, the familiar looking
receptionist comments, “You two were a lot of fun.”

I give her a good looking over and laugh when I realize this
lovely young lady with glossy brown hair is none other than the scraggily
supper witch from last night. “You guys got it going on in this place. Thanks
for the adventure.” I shake her hand and head back out.

Julia is already perched in the passenger seat, looking
eager to be gone from this place. She’s a hot mess, wearing dirty, wrinkled
clothes and smudges of dirt on her pretty face. I may have never seen her so
pretty as right now.

She catches me checking her out and rolls her eyes. “Yes. I
need a shower and I need it really soon.”

I check the GPS for the original campground plans. “You
think you can handle your nastiness for about two hours?” I know we are both
past-due for a wash. I can smell it in a mix of campfire smoke and musky
sweat
.

She wrinkles her nose like she wants to gripe about it, but
surprises me. “You think your
back
can handle it?” She smirks.

I laugh.
“Yeah.
I think my back can
handle it,” I answer.

I just
don’t think my heart can…

Chapter
Eighteen

Julia

Greyson Stone is one man not to be underestimated. It’s been
a week since the Witching Woods fiasco and I’m still not over it—but in a good
way. I cannot get over the fact that I made it through an anniversary of the
rape without it haunting me to no end. Let’s not forget I was being haunted but
not by that. And I’ll take that any day.

That man amazes me that he would
fake
a backache and hunt down such an unusual distraction—just for me. I can’t wrap
my mind around his abundance of selflessness. Greyson makes me want to be more
like that myself. I’m definitely turning a new leaf, albeit slowly. The night
after the stay in the woods, I found another Bible verse tucked into the pages
of my journal.

Greyson wrote –
Isaiah
41:13 -
For I am the
Lord
your God
who takes hold of your right hand
and
says to you, do not fear; I will help you.
He also
wrote –
You’re not alone
.

The Witching Woods craziness and a
daylong white water rafting excursion have rounded out our more adventurous
part of Tennessee. That day on the wild rapids was one of the most frightening
yet most exciting days I’ve ever endured. The vigorous water whipping around
our tiny raft was so powerful. I had no time to think about anything but the
moment. We paddled and bravely, or maybe naively, battled the rapids in two
separate runs that day, and it was amazing. We were dumped out of the raft
twice. The guide was quick to get us back in the first time due to us being in
a slightly tame spot. The second time, we weren’t so fortunate. I got swept
away for a good distance from the rest of the group and had to cling to a rock
for what felt like forever before they could get to me. I loved every minute of
it! By the time we headed back to the campground, my arms felt like Jell-O. We
fell into our beds that night from exhaustion and I slept like a baby.

Now things have become more leisurely,
and that’s okay too.
It sort of feels like we are catching
our breaths on this leg of the trip.
I’m mindful that Greyson still
needs to not overdo things. He’s so much better, but I notice some days his
energy levels lag behind. Those days, I insist on lounging around the pool or
simply hanging out at the RV. He never opposes so I know he must really need it
then. I’m amazed at how good it feels to take care of someone. I know I don’t
do much for him, but I find that I really like to do it. I like bringing him a
bottle of water when he doesn’t ask—just simple things to express his
importance to me. And more astonishingly, I just love being in his
company—talking or just sitting silently. I’ve never done the silent-sitting
thing, but with him it’s so comfortable.

It’s hard to believe we’ve been
traveling for three months already. I’m surprised to find myself really
enjoying it. And I feel like
a calm
has come over me.
My hands don’t tremble as bad and the restlessness has subsided drastically. I
focus on only the day before me and whatever fun I get to get into with my
traveling companion.

Greyson has found us a pretty nifty
campground in this southern part of Tennessee. It’s nestled along the
Chattahoochee River and looks like an old mining town. The little town has
clapboard buildings lined in a neat row—specialty stores, a sheriff’s station,
a saloon, and small restaurants. By the river, there’s even a sawmill building
complete with a running water wheel. The entire place is just so quaint. The
campground is located in a patch of woods, so it doesn’t distract from the
authenticity of the mining town vibe.

Today we have set out on foot to
explore the town.
I’m loving
it, too, because I get to
shop! I’ve already sent Greyson back to the RV once with a load of bags. He’s
back by my side now and is looking downright cute. I bought him his very own
felt hat, just like the one the creepy mountain man wore at the Witching
Woods—minus the stains.

“My very own hillbilly,” I declared
earlier when Greyson pulled the hat on with a grin.

We are walking around leisurely hand in
hand when I feel him stiffen as we pass the saloon entrance. And it’s entirely
my fault. I decide to surprise him as an apology for my past behavior. “You
ready for lunch?”

He eyes the saloon wearily, thinking I
want to go in. “I can wait,” he mumbles as he pulls me past the swinging doors.

“But I want to check out the little BBQ
joint at the corner.” I point down the walkway.

His shoulders relax and he loosens his
grip on my hand some. I notice a small smile work its way along his lips and
that produces my own smile.
“Sounds good.”

After a substantial lunch of the best
Tennessee BBQ—that’s what the waitress declared, and it was good—we go back to
shopping and exploring. We are heading back in the direction of the camping
ground when I spot a bookstore. We head in and I think about picking up a few
novels for the road, but change my mind. I like the traveling day
conversations. Greyson tells me all about his childhood with being raised by a
school teacher and a college professor. He is so animated when he talks about
his parents. He’s the only child, so I can easily tell he was doted on by them
both.

We wander around the bookshelves, and I
find myself being drawn to the inspirational section. Greyson follows and
starts skimming the daily devotionals.

“Looking for something in particular?”
a cute little store clerk asks as he shuffles over to us. He’s an elderly man
with white hair and wire rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He’s
slightly hunched and looks no more than five feet tall.

I smile at him and say, “I’m looking
for a Bible.”

I didn’t even realize it until I say
it. But now that I have, I know it’s exactly what I want. Greyson leaves such
beautiful words from this book for me and I want my own copy of them. I look
over and find my hot hillbilly smiling appreciatively at me from under his hat.
That gorgeous man’s happiness just warms me all over.

The sweet little man helps me pick out
a New International Version, saying the scripture is easier to understand.
Greyson says he agrees and that he carries that version as well as his King
James with him everywhere. The one I choose has a creamy beige cover and has
soft pink roses stitched along the bottom and up the binding.

“It’s perfect,” Greyson says
appraisingly as he takes it out of my hand and walks over to the ancient
register.

I try to stop him. “I can get it.”

“No. You bought me this sexy hat. It’s
only fair to buy you a gift, too.” He hands it to the clerk to ring up.

“Honey, that hat isn’t sexy.” I may be
fibbing just a bit. He peeks from under the edge of it with that yummy head
tilt. Yes. Yes, I lied. And we both know it.

“
Thorton
, you
know it’s sexy.” A flirty tease is bathing his tone.

The little man laughs quietly at our
banter, as he bags our purchases.

Tonight I try my hand at leaving
Greyson a Bible verse in his journal. He’s showering and I’m searching
frantically for a good one. I smile when I stumble upon Isaiah 54:12 –
I will make your battlements of rubies, your
gate of sparkling jewels,
and all your walls of
precious
stones
.
Honestly, I’m not sure what the verse
means but I do want Greyson to know how much he means to me. I write it in and
put the journal back where I find it.

I stretch across my bed and begin
writing in mine. It’s raining outside so journaling won’t be at the picnic
table tonight. Greyson walks out rubbing a towel through his thick dark-blond
hair with only sweatpants slung oh so low on his hips.
My, oh
my.
The man just made my mouth go dry. He pays me no attention as he
ducks into the bedroom and returns with a T-shirt on—much to my disappointment.
The last few months of eating have done that body very good.

He grabs his journal and sits at the
table. It only takes a few flips of the pages before a crooked smile pulls at
the corner of his lips. He says nothing though, just goes to writing.