On Tenterhooks (47 page)

Although the thick knot of trees swallowed up the winding path, it was easy to spot the tall tree that towered above the others, nearly a quarter of a mile away
.
Small golden flowers budded from the ends of its slender
,
sinewy branches
.

“That’s it!”
agreed
Veronica
, standing up for a better look. She nudged Steve
in the shoulder
with her foot. “And yes, it
is
in bloom right now!”

“Then let’s get to it,” he said, standing up and gathering up his bags. Martin groaned and followed suit.

“You gonna make it?” asked Steve.

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Martin
,
“
but
there’d
better be a cold beer and a big screen TV with the game on when I get there.”

They headed out to follow Abby and
Veronica
,
who had already
moved
down the trail
.

“Will you settle for some well water and the serenity of this beautiful nature around you?
”

“It’ll do in a pinch I suppose
.”

They reached the campechy tree in minutes.
Steve noticed that it wasn’t a large tree.
The small stature of the
surrounding
trees gave
it
the illusion of size
.
It was only about twe
nty feet tall and two feet wide, but it was what they were looking for
.
They pushed through the overgrown brush surrounding th
e tree and located the “trail” B
iker had
instructed them to find
.
Had he not told them to look for it, it was doubtful they’d have ever found it
.
Not only was it
on the opposite side of the tree from the trail on which they'd arrived
, but
it was
a
much smaller
walkway
—
more like an overgrown animal path than
a
hiking
trail
. They
trudged on
, trying to avoid scratching themselves or whipping the person behind them as they passed by the springy, thin branches that clawed
at their clothes
.

After
15
minutes of navigating the leafy gauntlet, they reached their destination.
Steve was
still i
n
front,
and he was so intent on fighting off the branches that he was startled when he stumbled out of the woods and into a clearing with a small house in the center
.
It
was a welcome site after a long day of traveling
.
As the
others caught up, they paused
next to him, startled
,
but
also thankful for the respite.

Chapter
40

The house in front of them was old.
Halfway across the clearing
of low
,
scrubby grass,
a simple dirt path formed the front walkway. Steve had pictured a log cabin, but this was
just a simple house
with
battered stucco
siding
.
A front porch
ran the length of the house
.
A rusted tin roof covered the two gables that strutted from the front.
Plain
,
simple curtains hung in the windows
,
but the
structure
was otherwise unadorned
.
It lacked a lived-in look
—
no
flowerpots
, no front-porch rocker and no house numbers.
It was a
place
for transients, as Biker had said
.
It had no personality
.
But
its age and remote location still lent it a bit of charm
in Steve’s eyes
.

Above the front door was a small sign bearing the house name: La Casita Del Paloma.

“Folks,” said Steve. “Welcome to the Little House of the Dove.”

The clearing itself seemed to be a perfect square
,
with the brush and small trees closing in on every side.
Around the back of the house, they saw the
work shed
and the well, just as Biker had described
.
On the ground outside the
shed,
the
y found the red rock. U
nderneath it, pressed into the
red
clay earth
,
was the key.

Climbing
simple
wooden
stoop
that served as a
back
porch
,
Steve
unlocked the back door.
When he pushed it open, it
gave a concerned squeal
, trumpeting the fact that this was
the first time
it had been opened
in years
.
If the house looked old
on the outside
, it
was
ancient
on the inside
.
The scents of stale air and dust were heavy.
In the corner of
small
kitchen
, there
was
an iron cook stove
.
On the wall opposite the
back d
oor
was a small, primitive
wooden table with four chairs
, all painted red
.
As they dropped their gear and groceries on the table, it groaned under the weight.

“Nice
,
” said
Veronica
, running her fingers over the table and leaving trails in the dust.

The kitchen opened into a
den with one small window,
a fireplace and some threadbare furniture.
Exposed dark, wooden beams stood in stark contrast to the white plaster of the walls and ceiling.
Beyond
the den, they passed the front door
.
Above it
,
a sign
painted on the wall
in English read
:
Good friends can turn any house into a home
.
Down a short hallway
were two bedrooms
, each with two double beds
.
Simple rough-hewn dressers and nightstands
furnished
the rooms
.
Both bedrooms had two oil lamps on each dresser.
There were
curtains over the windows, area
rugs on the floor and simple linens on the beds
.
At the end of the hall was a bathroom with a
washbasin
and a
toilet
bowl with no water tank
.

“You’ve got to prime that with a bucket of water for it to flush,”
Martin explained
to the others
.
“I’ll be darned.
I haven’t seen one of those since
my grandpa’s old house
in Suffolk.”

“Okay, just
eww
,” said Abby, turning away.

The hallway also had a very narrow
set of steps
that led to
a
brightly lit
loft used for storage
. Among the
old furniture, books and a chest of old clothes
, they
found several
more
oil lamps.

Steve had to admit that
,
despite its
dust
and
shabby
appearance, the house was very clean and functional. The strongest impression he had
had
of the house, from the moment he had opened the back door, was the smell.
It reminded him of his
childhood, when he and his older
cousins used to play hide and seek in his grandmother’s house
.
His favorite hiding place had been the small hope chest in her spare bedroom
.
She had used it to store blankets, ancient
photos, long past love letters
and a few old books
.
Steve used to open the lid
and
slip inside
.
I
f
he lay very still, the lid would close over him
.
He always
lay
on his stomach
, nose
down
into the mementos
.
To
lie
face up reminded him too much of Dracula in
a
coffin
,
and vampires had haunted his childhood
.

H
e’d
lie
there for long minutes, inhaling the scents of long ago
—
lingering f
abrics, paper curing in decades-
old
hardbacks
and
trace
whiffs of cedar and mothballs. His cousins
never found him there
.
W
ere they too naïve
, thinking
he wasn’t small enough to fit in
the chest
,
or
were
they
letting
him
stay hidden
because he was “little cousin Stevie?” 
It didn’t matter which. Either way, it
had made him feel strong and comfortable
.
It was uncanny that the smells here we
re
so similar. Years later and thousands of miles away, he once again felt
that strength and comfort in this house
.

After
they
finished
the tour of their modest
,
new
,
temporary home, Steve called the group back to the den.

“Okay
,
guys.
So here we are.”
He looked at his watch.
“We still
have
a cou
ple of hours of sunlight left.
Let’s do what we can to get this place set up.”

“Set up for what?”
Veronica
asked.

Steve knew they might have
only
hours before Preacher showed up, but Biker had told them that they might have several days.
“For living,” said Steve. “We might be here a while.”

He didn’t want them going stir crazy waiting for some kind of signal, especially when there was no guarantee that they’d get any warning.

“Martin, how about you put your culinary skills to work and s
ee what we’ve got for a kitchen?
”

“Got it.
I’ve never worked one of those old-time cook stoves before, but I think I can whip it into shape.”

“
Good,” said Steve. “
Abby, would you mind seeing if we can get some sheets and stuff
for the bedrooms and get those beds
set-up?”

“Yes sir,” she said, saluting and
smiling
.

“
Veronica
, how about checking out the shed
to
see if you can find that lamp oil Biker told us about?

“Will do
.
”

“And anything else you can find that might be useful,” Steve added. “I am gonna get
started on bringing in
some water out of the well
.
Martin, you’ll probably need it for the kitchen. We
need it for cooking, cleaning up and using
that funky
toilet. W
e’re gonna need a lot.”

By sundown, the scents of vegetable stew and lamp oil
had replaced the dust and must
.
The small flames
bathed the rooms in a soft, comfortable glow
.
Warmth from the cook stove filled the kitchen
.
They crowded a
round
the small table
, digging
into hearty
bowl
s
of Martin’s vegetable soup and crusty bread.

“
Martin, I owe you an apology
,
” said
Veronica
,
pointing
her spoon in
his
direction.
“
This is excellent. N
ever again shall I dispute your culinary complaints about sub-standard hotel food!”

“Yeah
,
Martin,” Abby echoed. “This is
awesome
!”

“I think you’ve just signed yoursel
f up for permanent kitchen duty,” Steve
confirmed
.

“As long as there’s food to cook,” said Martin
,
“I am happy to cook it!”

“How
long do you think our food will hold out
?” asked Steve.

“Well, breakfasts will be light. We’ve got a few eggs that I think will keep
.
We’ve got plenty of fresh fruit that’ll last for several days. Lunches will be that pre-packaged
stuff
you
girls bought
.
Dinners will be special
.
I
’ve
got some ideas up my sleeve.”

“Good,” said Steve.

“Steve,” asked Abby
,
“
how
long do we have to stay here?  I mean, I know we are waiting for Preacher to show up, but how long, do you think?”

“I don’t kn
ow.
Even Biker didn’t know
.
Although he didn’
t think it would be too long. S
everal days at most would be my guess.”

“That’s good,” said
Veronica
.
“Because I am gonna get pretty tired of waiting before too long.”

Martin yawned.
“Speaking of tired,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, I think we should turn in
.
But first
,
a coupl
e
of
housekeeping items. Come on.”

They all
stood and walked into the den.