Stony River (29 page)

“Summers always go by fast here. It’s the winters that go on and on.” His eyes twinkled at her. “You know what they say about the four seasons in Cragmont, don’t you?”

She shook her head.

“Early winter, mid-winter, late winter, and next winter,” he recited, and she laughed—but the trouble was still there for her.

But Joel had noticed the river picture and taken it up. “You’ve finished it.”

“Just did.”

He studied it longer, and when he looked up she wondered what he thought, to make his eyes so passionate all of a sudden. “It’s no wonder you are compelled to pursue this,” he said.

“Why do you say so?”

“You are a true artist.”

She gave a little sigh. “I wanted to set it down just as it was, so I could have it to look at wherever I go.”

“I haven’t gotten down to see the flowers yet. Maybe I can tonight. If not, I’ll have to see them through your eyes this year.”

Even though the haze had thickened to filter the sunlight, the heat was oppressive. Sitting in what little shade the pine tree afforded, Sevana took the opportunity to tell Joel her worry about Fenn. But after listening attentively to her fears, Joel sided with her reasoning. He agreed that even if Fenn was desperate, he wouldn’t risk everything to poach inferior summer furs. Sevana felt better to hear him voice her own sentiments.

In the dirty-colored sky, the tops of whiter billowing clouds showed behind the mountain range. “I thought something was brewing,” Joel remarked. The clouds were moving so rapidly, already they loomed as an advancing threat.

“Are you going to take the sheep down?” Sevana asked.

“No. These afternoon storms are typically over as fast as they start. But if you don’t want to get wet, you’d best leave now and take shelter at my place.” The trees shuddered under a precursory gust.

“I’ll stay,” she decided, thinking it would be fun to watch the storm.

“You’d better bring Trapper away from that big tree,” Joel cautioned, and went to call the flock to a more sheltered part of the meadow.

Sevana ran to get Trapper and led him over to join the flock, as the dense clouds towered in the sky and the overcast darkened to a glowering charcoal. Low thunder rumbled like a far-off drumroll. The rushing of wind filled the valley; minutes later, the brunt of it hit the pasture, and the chorus of trees increased to a frenzied crescendo. Sevana held tightly to Trapper’s rope while Joel retrieved a recalcitrant Brook, who had ignored his call.

A dazzling blue-white lightning bolt flashed from the sky and struck the ridgetop across the river. Thunder boomed, magnifying itself within the valley walls as in a gigantic amphitheater. Trapper tossed his head and whinnied. Joel came over and took the rope from Sevana. “Easy, boy,” he said.

Then clouds spilled over the mountaintops, cloaking the entire range. They plunged down to the valley bottom and came boiling back up like steam in a giant cauldron. Ominous low rumblings came from the heart of that swirling vapor as it rose higher and higher, until suddenly it was rushing straight up the hillside at them. Seconds later, they were engulfed in a thick, clammy fog.

Through the rumblings and mist Joel talked reassuringly to the flock. But there was no help for Sevana, for she realized the cloud that had swallowed them was a thundercloud. Heart in her throat, she dropped to her knees and hugged Goldthread tightly to her, hiding her face in his fuzzy wool.

Suddenly there was a blinding flash her closed eyes could not keep out, and a deafening explosion that jarred into the ground, instantly filling the air with the seared smell of an overheated iron skillet. Trapper reared up on his back legs as Joel held to the taut rope. Powerful as Joel was, it was all he could do to keep the terror-stricken horse from a crazed dash down the mountain. At the same instant, there was a streak of movement as one of the sheep left the huddle and vanished into the fog. “Brook!” Joel bellowed.

Dry-mouthed with fright, Sevana moved woodenly to take Trapper back. “I’ll take him,” she quaked.

But Joel wouldn’t give him over. “There’s no use going after Brook until the storm’s over. The flock will panic if I leave them now. I can’t blame Brook too much this time,” he added. “That lightning struck right above the pasture.”

The next flash was weaker, and the thunder followed more slowly. A burst of rain hit the hillside, but the wind kept driving the clouds over the next ridge. Soon the fog cleared, leaving only an overcast sky. “We lucked out, we didn’t get drenched,” said Joel.

Nor struck, thought Sevana, who’d had greater worries than getting wet. Aloud she said, “That was something, the way that cloud came racing full-speed up the mountain at us. It was almost sinister, like it was trying to get us.”

“Not sinister, just the power of nature on display,” Joel said, scanning the sky with an expression of respect rather than fear. “It’s a good thing to be reminded of once in a while. Well, I’ll take the sheep home, and see if I can go round up Brook.”

“I can watch them while you look,” she offered. “If you’d been with Brook instead of keeping Trapper for me, he would have stayed.”

“I doubt it,” Joel said lightly. “But if you want to, it’ll save me time.” He handed over Trapper’s rope so she could secure him to a tree. “Give a holler if you need me—I won’t be far away.” Thanking her, he disappeared into the trees.

When the flock saw Joel going, they thought they should go, too—and in a minute Joel was back, as Sevana stood calling after them futilely. He grinned at her. “You might try distracting Glacier. If you can get him to stay, the others will be more likely to.”

So Sevana pulled up some clover and made a show of feeding it to Glacier while Joel eased away. The venerable bellwether was regarding her rather distrustfully, and when he turned his head and saw Joel was no longer in sight, he looked downright indignant. Thistle, too, realized he’d been tricked, and seemed to be debating if it was too late to go for a walk now that Joel was already out of sight. Little Gyrfalcon looked at her accusingly from a distance, communicating his disapproval of the change in command with a sharp stare.

“I’m sorry,” she said to them, holding her hands open in a show of apology. “What can I say? He’ll be back in a little while.”

“Baaa-aaah,” Glacier responded ungratefully.

The sheep did seem uneasy without Joel—except for Blazingstar, who on any and all occasions lived only to frolic; but the rain-sprinkled grass proved too much of a diversion for them, and soon they were back to nipping off the wet stalks as if nothing had happened.

A subdued light resided over the valley. The mountain peaks had retreated to remote, deep-blue shapes and brooded there in somber silence, the backdrop for a few fingers of mist floating above the river. But even as Sevana watched, the sun broke through the overcast and began to shine again.

Then the moisture-filled air caught the sunrays and a broad rainbow spanned the valley from ridgetop to ridgetop, each luminous band merging into the next like a palette of watercolors mixing in the sky. Sevana wished she could share the sight with Joel, but since she couldn’t, she shared it with the sheep—exclaiming so happily that the lambs caught the exuberance in her voice and began to prance around her. Even Gyrfalcon cast off his earlier displeasure to participate with as much enthusiasm as the rest. Laughing, she joined in, running and playing with them on the slope until the sun had melted the rainbow, and they were all warm and dry again.

When she dropped on her knees to rest, she used her new weaving skills to braid a chain of grass and daisies for Goldthread, who stood watching her quietly. When she slipped it around his neck, he seemed very pleased with his finery and even strutted a little. But it soon fell apart and he ate most of it. She was busy fashioning one for Hawthorn, who came over wanting the same attentions, when a deep voice above her startled her. “A wolf has eaten all your sheep, shepherdess,” it said.

But the sheep were before her, placid and content. She turned to see Joel’s dark eyes laughing down at her, and jumped up in confusion, the garland falling to the ground—forgotten by her but not Hawthorn, who promptly gobbled it up. “I’m not a shepherdess,” she said, chagrined he had been able to catch her unaware. Then she realized he’d come back alone. “You didn’t find Brook?”

“No, he must have struck out on a journey all his own. I’ll take the sheep down now and go looking for him in earnest.”

Sevana went with him to the barn, and watched as he checked over the sheep at the door the same way he did every night. She was able to identify most of them by now. Even though they looked so much alike, they each had their own traits and characteristics that set them apart. All of them were accounted for but Brook, and Sevana said she would watch for him on her way home. She rode down the trail with the wind increasing in the trees and the clouds regathering in the sky as she went.

She was late getting home, but Fenn was later still. The beans were pushed to the edge of the stove when he finally came in, covered with dirt and pitch from head to toe. He sank down at the table and let her serve him like a stone wall.

“Hard shift?” she asked.

“Fighting brush all day,” he muttered. “Twelve-, fourteen-feet high. So thick, the trees wouldn’t even fall over after we cut them down.”

Sevana told him about the storm and the lost sheep at dinner, but he was not the least impressed with any of it, and his only comment was totally off-subject, remarking, “I put out the mousetraps but haven’t caught any yet. You must have gotten them all with your bizarre little set-up.” He went out to the bathhouse, leaving her to mull over the unsettling revelation that even when he appeared absolutely disinterested in the things around him, and even if it had nothing to do with his horse, he let nothing escape his notice. Despite that fact, she began hunting for the traps he’d set, and systematically dismantled them all.

While Sevana was cleaning up the kitchen, a blue-and-white truck pulled into the yard and a stocky, middle-aged man got out. She dried her hands and went to see who it was.

“Hello, you must be Fenn’s sister,” said the man, his round face lit with friendliness. “Sevana, isn’t it? I’m Henry Sutter, from the logging company.” He pumped her hand. “It’s good to meet you. How’s your summer going?”

“Pretty well, thank you.” She had a hunch he was Fenn’s boss, and found herself hoping he didn’t know she had snubbed practically his entire crew.

“Glad to hear it.” His goodwill seemed unreserved. “Is Fenn around?”

But Fenn was coming down the path, hair wet from his shower. “Hello, Hawk,” he said shortly.

“Hello there, Fenn.” The logging man was less easy now, running a hand over the brown stubble on top of his head. “Sorry to bother you at home, but the date for the Horsefly Creek sale got moved up, and I didn’t realize it till tonight. It’s either look at it tomorrow or not at all. Can I get you to come with me?”

“If it’ll get me out of that confounded alder patch,” Fenn growled. “When you leaving?”

“First thing in the morning. I’ll be by for you about six. That should give us time to look everything over and still get to Revelstoke to bid on it before it closes.”

At Fenn’s curt nod, Mr. Sutter was on his way again. “See you in the morning, then. Nice to meet you, Sevana.” With another smile for her, he was gone.

“Was that your boss?” Sevana asked.

“The ignoramus himself,” Fenn said sardonically.

By the time Sevana had finished the dishes, a strong west wind was blowing. Fenn lounged against the porch post with a can of beer, watching the fast-moving clouds fleeting over the ridge. Just as Sevana stepped out to join him, a cracking boom resonated through the valley. “What was that?” she asked, giving a jump.

“Probably a cedar falling across the river,” Fenn answered. “Their roots are so shallow, a few always go over in a storm.”

Sevana looked at the trees swaying above the homestead, and wondered how secure
their
roots were. That was when she realized what was right in front of her eyes: a sheep under the furthest birch, nosing the grass. Brook! “Fenn,” she said in a voice of suppressed excitement, “Joel’s sheep is right up there by the spring!”

Fenn turned to look. “So it is,” he said carelessly. “Get a rope and put it in the barn for the night.”

So Sevana got a rope from the barn and approached the wayward sheep. His head came up and he regarded her warily, but he didn’t run. She kept on cautiously until she was able to slip the rope around his neck. “Well, Brook,” she said, “now I have you; and what shall I do with you?”

She tugged on the rope, and he followed reluctantly. “I’m going to take him up,” she told Fenn. “If I hurry, I can be back by dark.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Fenn responded agreeably. “It’s going to storm again any time.”

“But if I don’t, Joel will spend the night thinking he’s lost.” Impatient to be off, she tugged again at Brook. He took a few more unwilling steps, then halted. “Come on,” she urged, pulling hard. But he stood stiff-legged, braced against the rope.

“You stubborn—” she declared in vexation, keenly aware that Fenn was observing her efforts from his vantage on the porch. Concluding there was no way she was going to hurry the yearling up the hill, she abandoned the idea—and at length managed to coax him to the barn, as Fenn had said in the first place.