Savage Cinderella (7 page)

Brinn stood, turned, and set the poultice on
the table, keeping her back to Justin so she could hide the
indecision she knew clouded her face.

“
You can trust me, Brinn. I
would never want to do anything to hurt you. If you don’t want me
to tell anyone I’ve seen you, I won’t.”

She released the breath that held her chest
tight. “I don’t...thank you.” An uncomfortable silence lingered.
His word was the best she could hope for. She turned to face him, a
slow smile finding its way to her lips. Abruptly, she changed the
subject. “I’ll fix us some breakfast.”

“
Let me guess: grits and
berries.” A broad grin spread across his face. “I’d love to get
cleaned up first and maybe shave. You mentioned you had something
to take off the, um...needles?”

Her frayed nerves jumped again. How would she
know if she could trust him unless she gave him a chance to prove
himself? It was one thing to believe he would keep her secret. She
couldn’t stop him from telling the world about her once he was
gone. But trusting him with a knife was a risk that she had the
power to choose. The decision made, she released her closed fists.
She had to trust someone sometime.

With only a slight hesitation, Brinn supplied
him with a meager bar of soap and presented him with an array of
knives she had collected over the years. There was a small blade
that fit neatly in her hand for gutting animals and peeling
vegetables, the longer serrated knife that she used for cutting
branches, and the fourteen-inch machete, good for clearing brush.
None of these were apparently suited for his purpose. He finally
chose the long flat-edged blade she used for scaling fish.

Justin stood. He towered above her. Brinn
held her breath as her hand moved involuntarily to the hilt of her
own six-inch buck knife that she kept with her at all times.

“
Thank you,” he said as he
passed by her and headed for the porch. He paused at the door.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Then he was
gone.

The words sent a jolt to her heart. She’d
learned a long time ago not to depend on anyone but herself. Brinn
clanged the spoon against the cast iron pot and then hit it again.
Lost in thought, she stirred until the grits thickened to the
consistency of sticky glue.

When Justin returned, his face looked soft
and smooth, and his hair was neatly combed back. With a disarming
smile, he handed the borrowed blade back to her, hilt first. She
released a slow breath of relief and took the knife. Test
passed.

They ate in silence. He seemed to understand
her need to process all that had happened between them in the past
two days. After breakfast, he cleaned the dishes while she
straightened up around the dingy cabin. Having a guest made her
excruciatingly aware of the state of her living conditions.

Justin spent the afternoon looking through
her books, sometimes reading passages of poetry out loud, and
reciting from memory some of her favorite Emily Dickinson poems. He
also kept his word not to touch her again. He went out of his way
to avoid contact, skirting around her clumsily and giving her a
wide berth that left her both relieved and strangely
disappointed.

Funny sensations flooded her body whenever
she stood close enough to him to feel his heat and smell the
comforting aroma of cinnamon and spice that seemed his natural
scent. It reminded her of some distant time and place—a place where
she felt safe and protected. Faded memories swam just below the
surface in her mind like fish caught in the sun’s reflection,
disappearing before she could grab hold.

Justin didn’t press her about details of her
past and she was grateful. He filled the silence with stories, and
she hung on his every word. He talked of studying philosophy and
poetry as part of his Fine Arts degree, and described restaurants
with any food you wanted—cooked and served to order—just like in
her magazines and books. He spoke of the great redwood forests he’d
seen and the vastness and beauty of the oceans, places she only
dreamed of or imagined.

Once, he mentioned his mother, commenting
that she was an artist like Brinn. But it became obvious that
family wasn’t an easy subject for him to talk about or for her to
hear about. An awkward tension hung in the air. Some small part of
her recognized the familiar pictures he'd drawn in her mind,
obscure memories of a life before the forest—before her time on the
farm.

Night fell and Brinn once again sat on her
perch across the room, listening in the shadows to Justin’s steady,
even breathing. She allowed herself to wonder what it would be like
to live among the crowded city streets of the world he’d talked
about throughout the day. Her mind drifted toward a life that still
called to her soul, a life stolen by a stranger. She dared not
close her eyes, even as the darkness of night settled around
her.

Brinn shuddered at the thought of leaving the
small cabin and the expansive woodlands she called home. Could she
ever feel safe away from her mountain? As Justin drifted in and out
of sleep, she remained guarded. Having a man invade the sanctuary
she’d protected for so long had her on edge, unable to feel
completely safe with eyes closed.

She shifted uncomfortably and released a long
sigh. His kindness and easy acceptance of her—once she untied
him—had surprised her. If he’d wanted to hurt or overpower her, he
could have done so by now. His shoulders were wide, his arms and
chest leanly muscled, but his essence was sweet, protective and
gentle.

Memories of home drifted through her sleepy
mind. Then another memory burst in, startling her awake: a tiny
room, a stained mattress, the smell of smoke. Her breath came hard
and fast. Her sweaty hand closed on the hilt of her knife. Men
could be clever hunters. She saw the shadows deepen and grow around
Justin’s sleeping form across the room. “No,” she whispered. “Not
him. Not Justin.”

Holding On and Letting Go

When morning broke the third day, Justin
showed marked improvement. He removed the splint and limped around
the cabin, seeming restless for something to do. He took over fire
tending duties while Brinn made breakfast.

She set the plates on the table and wished
she had something better to offer when Justin made an unpleasant
face. “Seriously? Fish? For breakfast?” he asked. He grimaced as he
pushed the withered greens around his plate. “I hate to complain,
but we’ve eaten fish and these...vegetables,” he poked at the
greens, “for three days.”

She kept a small garden behind the cabin, but
she had to share most of what she grew with the rabbits,
groundhogs, and skunks. It was early in the season and they’d left
her with only some winter squash, cabbage, some chard, and beans to
share with her guest.

Brinn’s cheeks felt hot. “Sometimes I have
meat. If a hunter leaves a snare, I can catch a rabbit or a
squirrel. But it isn’t open hunting season, and I...I only hunt
when I have to.”

Though the animals gave their lives for her
survival, the violence of death saddened her. She couldn’t
understand those who hunted for sport. It was cruel, unnecessary,
and a waste of precious life. In the natural order of things, there
were predators and prey, a food chain that on some level, made
sense. Mountain lions she understood. Man and his need to conquer
and destroy was something she would never comprehend.

Fish, plentiful and tasty, seemed different
somehow. It was as if the rivers and streams had made them
especially for eating. Kitty shared in her opinion, having taught
Brinn how to fish when she was still a young girl.

“
I...could make you some
ravioli.”

Justin perked up. “You have ravioli?”

When she’d started working for Mr. Hoffman,
he let her fill up her pack with breads, cheeses, powdered milk,
eggs, and dried meats. Occasionally, she stocked up on personal
supplies and sometimes took a few canned goods for emergencies, but
they were heavy in her pack for the long hike back to the mountains
and, to her, seemed nonessential. It had been several weeks since
her last visit to the store and her supplies were low, but she had
a few cans left.

Ravioli heated, Justin ate with gusto. After
breakfast was cleared away, he seemed energized and as squirrelly
as she did to get outside and enjoy the day. He hobbled behind
Brinn as they made their way up a narrow, winding trail, stumbling
occasionally as his crutch failed to find purchase on the rocky
slope. “I can’t believe that you live up here all alone. Don’t you
ever miss having company?”

His query brought unwelcomed heat to her
cheeks and emotion simmering to the surface. She couldn’t explain
to him why she stayed here on the mountain. She never told anyone
about what had happened when she was a child. Or why she continued
to live in fear so many years later. How could she make anyone
understand something she didn’t understand herself? All she knew
was that if she left the sanctuary of the mountains, the man that
haunted her would find her once again. She’d drawn invisible
boundaries long ago, lines she didn’t cross except to meet Abby or
frequent the general store after dark.

“
I am lonely at times, but
isn’t everyone? Aren’t you?” She stopped and turned to meet his
eyes while he limped his way around a large lichen-covered boulder
in the middle of the trail.

A flash of acknowledgement flickered in the
dark depths there. From the first time they’d met by the stream,
she’d recognized the look of sorrow that lived behind Justin’s
friendly smile and soulful expression. The familiarity of it drew
her in, even now. A common expression she’d seen on many strangers’
faces, she sensed it even from a distance. It said I understand
pain, and I carry it alone.

He smiled and nodded as he caught up to her.
“You’re right; I think everyone feels that way sometimes. But what
I meant is, don’t you want to be around other people, see the
world, have someone to talk with, spend time with?”

She turned her back and continued up the worn
path, hemmed in on both sides by thick walls of laurel, holly, and
budding rhododendron. A salamander skittered across the trail in
front of her. She smiled briefly at the good luck omen. Brinn
longed for the companionship that he spoke of, but she’d given up
wishing for such things. Hope seemed an illusion she could not
afford. Experience had taught her that disappointment followed too
closely on its heels. She lived—survived—one day at a time. “I’m
all right on my own, really.”

Justin mumbled something under his breath,
obviously unconvinced, but let the topic go as he negotiated over
roots and stones in the path. When they reached the top of the hill
and rounded a stand of tall pines, the forest opened to a meadow.
Beyond the low-growing shrubbery and the mountain laurel that
dominated the mountain side and edged the clearing, there lay a
blanket of grass in muted shades of green and gold. The breeze
stretched across the meadow carrying the scent of herbaceous
undergrowth and the earthy moisture of spring.

“
This is where I gather
many of my herbs. Kitty and I like to come here and play.” As if on
cue the bear ambled out from behind the thick shrubbery, followed
by two cubs trailing at her haunches.

Justin’s face lit up, a wide smile taking
over as he leaned against a large boulder to observe the mother
bear and rest his foot. “How does one go about playing with a
bear?” he asked, amused.

“
Kitty likes to chase
sticks.” In response to his furrowed brow and look of disbelief,
Brinn picked up a short length of hemlock and crossed the field at
a trot, whooping a high-pitched yelp that drew the bear’s
attention. When she neared Kitty and her cubs, Brinn turned her
back to the bear and flung the stick in the opposite direction,
then raced after it. The large bear followed at a lumbering gallop,
her cubs in hot pursuit.

Brinn reached the stick first and grabbed it
up from the ground just as Kitty reached the spot. The bear grabbed
the end of the stick and shook her mammoth head back and forth,
playing tug-of-war until Brinn let go and fell into the grass
laughing. Kitty dropped the stick at her feet and rolled onto the
ground waiting for the reward of a scratch to the thick undercoat
of her belly. The cubs took advantage of Brinn’s attention and
rolled onto their backs, wiggling and snorting while she scratched
and rubbed each one in turn. Justin looked on, grinning in
delight.

They spent the rest of the day sharing
stories and laughing over Kitty’s antics as she and her cubs
frolicked in the open meadow of heath and oat grass. Justin’s jaw
dropped in wonder as the cubs rolled over each other, tumbling in
the tall grassy areas, their mother separating them with a gentle
nudge of her broad snout when they grew a bit too frisky.

“
I wish I had my camera,”
he said for the third time, as one of the cubs climbed over Kitty
and mewled loudly when it fell on its head, rolled away, and then
jumped back on. Kitty lay on her side patiently, allowing the cubs
to wiggle into position beneath her to nurse.

“
Let’s give her some
space,” said Brinn, leading Justin away from the meadow. The mother
bear’s feeding time with her cubs was an intimate act of love that
filled Brinn with joy at its beauty, yet reminded her of the loss
of connection to her own mother. The moment seemed best left to the
privacy of nature.

While Justin followed behind her on his
crutch, testing his ability to manage the uneven ground of the
forest, Brinn led him to a small brook that ran down the
mountainside not far from her cabin. This time of year, the water
flowed fast, overfull from the snowmelt at the higher elevations.
The water was cold, crystal clear, and bubbling along at a brisk
pace, except for an area sheltered by several large boulders. Here,
the water pooled and circled, creating an illusionary safe haven
for the trout and bass that were making their way down to the
tributaries and lakes far below. It was her favorite fishing
spot.