Stony River (34 page)

“Why July?” Standing with him, Sevana tried her best to spy the pass that offered no clue of its existence.

“July is spring up there. August is summer, and September is fall.”

While Sevana contemplated a land so high that three seasons could pass in the span of a single summer elsewhere, that same wilderness was coloring in the setting sun. The peaks flared briefly and fell dark as the sun disappeared behind the jagged line of mountains to the northwest. Then the western horizon flamed orange, and the panorama of valleys and ridges turned a misty violet.

The lonely wind gusted against the lookout, shaking it. It wailed against the rocks and scrubby trees it found in its way, then swirled off into the chasm. Sevana gripped the weathered railing as it vibrated under her hand and hoped the old building was still solid, but she didn’t take her eyes from the view.

Something beyond words was within her, in that high, wild world of the far-setting sun—the force of the wind…the purple, hazy ranges…the scent of heather, resinous and sharp. And the wildness was in her, too: a love and a longing, a fear and a fascination—so overwhelming it sought expression, but finding none was left unsatisfied, pent-up.

Joel was leaning boldly over the rail, watching the sky that seemed to be growing no darker. “It always amazes me how long it stays light when you’re above the mountains.”

“Yes—isn’t it strange to be so high, perched up here?” she said. “We’re so alone among the sea of ranges, and you can feel it—in everything, can’t you?”

“Yes, you can.” He was facing west, searching out the unseen lands beyond the edge of the sky, and his expression was not without conflict. “It’s funny, you can see so far from up here, but you can’t look ahead even one day, to know what your life will be like tomorrow.”

They stayed until the sunset had begun to deepen—until the alpine firs were only black spearpoints against the scorched-orange horizon, and the wind was singing a night song over the far expanses—and still they walked in its lingering glow to the truck. How Joel got turned around in that harrowing place Sevana didn’t know, but he did so with perfect control, while she tried not to think of the dropoff only inches to the side and the slope pulling them that way.

“Well, Sevana,” Joel said, when they were bumping over the unforgiving rocks again, “I can’t take you to the wilderness, but at least you can say you saw it from a distance.”

“Yes, and what a sight it was!” She was still in a blissful daydream.

She had thought the adventure over now, was already looking back on it to savor it—but Joel had something else in mind. At a wide corner he came to a stop, debating something. “There’s a little glacial cirque back in here, not too far. I know it’s getting dark, but if we hurry—”

She saw how much he wanted to do it. “I’d like to see it,” she said, hand on the door latch. With him, she was game for anything—soaking in as many experiences as she would be allowed.

He flashed her a grin. “I may have to take back what I said about you being a city girl,” he said.

CHAPTER 22

It was dark at the beginning as they fought through a thicket of young trees crowding the road, but before long they broke into an open basin illumined well enough by the dome of pale sky to allow a subtle view of the whole terrain.

“Let’s go!” Joel’s voice carried enthusiasm, as if the wild country held a certain healing balm for the soreness of his heart. “We’ll go up and see the lake, and then we’ll race the dark out of here.”

They hurried over the sparse grass, Sevana trying not to step on the fragile wildflowers which looked only like miniature blobs of white in the dusk. A stream reflecting the sheen of the sky ran across their way—not deep, but too wide to jump across. Joel stopped at the edge. “Want to get your boots wet, or take them off?”

“Do we have time?”

“It’ll stay light like this for another hour yet.”

“Then I’ll take them off,” she decided, taking a seat on one of the many stones of that glacier-scarred land.

“Probably best.” Even though she had a feeling he wouldn’t have done so if he’d been by himself, he also sat down and untied his boots.

It turned out Sevana was glad she’d taken the trouble, for it proved one of the most memorable experiences of that exceptional day. It was not soon she forgot the tingling shock of the frigid water or the sting of sharp gravel on her feet, as she and Joel splashed across the stream as fast as they could, waving their boots and hooting and shrieking—the echoes rebounding back to them doubly loud in the barren landscape.

After donning their footwear, they hiked the rest of the way to the lake. There it was, in a shallow rock bowl: an oval pool mirroring the pale milky sky with marblelike luminance. A few well-placed lily pads adorned its calm surface like deliberate decoration. Huge round boulders and flat flagstones were set on the grassy shore randomly and yet with a curious appearance of order, so that Sevana could fancy the shore held the ruins of some magical courtyard.

“This is Frog Lake,” said Joel.

“No, it’s
Fairy
Lake.” Sevana’s eyes shone like the lake itself in the twilit radiance. “It doesn’t look real—it’s a setting for some olden kingdom of fairies or elves…or at least
enchanted
frogs.”

He smiled. “It’s a nice place to spend a summer afternoon.” He sprang up on one of the rocks to look over the dusky domain. He made Sevana think of a wolf surveying its territory—lean, alert, skilled in surviving by his own resources in a land he was familiar with to the last detail. But scarcely had he taken his stance when he stepped down again. “Ready to go?”

Sevana wondered why he wanted to go so soon, when the minute before he’d seemed so content, but she followed in mute acquiescence as he turned and walked in a brisk pace to the creek. Before she had time to take off her boots, he said, “I’ll carry you,”—and catching her up in his arms in a single motion easily, as if she had been one of his sheep, splashed straight through the water, boots and all.

Startled, Sevana clung to his shoulder even while she tried to study his face. The light was too muted to see the subtleties of his expression, but she didn’t have to see anything to know something wasn’t right. “Joel—”

He was still carrying her as if he’d forgotten to put her down. “There you go,” he said a little too heartily, setting her on her feet. “Saved you the trouble of taking off your boots.” He stepped off the little game trail they were on. “Why don’t you go first?”

They were entering the thicket when Sevana heard rocks bouncing behind them and a shower of pebbles as from a small landslide. Joel gave her a gentle nudge to keep her moving. When they were inside the shadowed cab of the truck, she asked—now fairly certain of the answer: “Was something back there?”

“It was a grizzly, and he was coming our way,” Joel said evenly. “I saw him from the rock. I didn’t want to scare you, but I knew we had to get out of there.”

“A grizzly?” She gave a shiver, a little fascinated.

“I’m sorry, Sevana, that was irresponsible of me—taking you into prime grizzly habitat this time of night without a gun. I was trying to fit too much into too short a space. There are so many places I would show you, if I had the chance.”

Sevana had no regrets. “I’m glad we went, Joel. Today will be one of my favorite memories of the summer.”

Driving home up the river valley, with the wild-scented black water rippling at their side and the velvet-blue band of sky studded with gemlike stars overhead, Joel observed out of a silence, “Heaven is closer at night.”

And when Sevana thought about it, she realized he was right. The sun blinded you from it by day, but at night you were looking straight into heaven through an open window.

The house was dark when they got back. Joel carried in her groceries and quietly left again. Sevana put the paintbrush flower in water to revive it, and tiptoed up to bed. There was a faint burned smell in the air, as if something had spilled on the stove.

The disconsolate wind and desolate ranges of Landmark Peak stayed with Sevana that night, and in the morning they had not left her. That mountaintop land had lit a hunger in her—she wanted to go back. The lonely wind of the high ridges sang on in her mind, and the forbidding peaks lured her with their remembered beauty. But she didn’t tell Joel that his kindness in taking her to look over the wilderness hadn’t satisfied her, but had only intensified her longing to see it.

That afternoon Sevana carried a batch of shortbread cookies up the trail for Joel to pack for his trip, and found him filling saddlebags and panniers on the front porch while his animals grazed the flat behind the house.

He thanked her, trying a buttery square on the spot and insisting she have one for the hike home. “You’ll spoil me so I won’t be content with my oatmeal and rice,” he said.

“It won’t be the same without you, Joel,” she said sadly. “I wish everything could stay the way it is right now.”

“I know, Sevana. The time we’ve spent this summer is over all too soon.” He put the cookies into a pocket of the saddlebag and cinched it tight. “When do you leave for Lethbridge?”

“Around the end of September. Class doesn’t start until mid-October, but I need time to get settled and find a job.”

“September is about the end of the season for me, too.”

She departed soon after that, not wanting to take up his time. When she bid him goodbye, he said he would see her on his way down in the morning.

All the way home, Sevana contemplated the brief time she and Joel had shared that summer. It had been time set apart, separated from the rest of life by more than distance. The sunny days in the pasture under the abiding forms of the mountains, where happiness was the only possible state of heart—those days were ending, and she knew nothing in the world could ever take their place.

Sunday morning Fenn felled a beetle-killed larch opposite the house and bucked it up for firewood. Sevana worked with him, righting the sawed rounds in the road for him to chop, and loading the split sticks into the back of the truck. But the butt-section of the larch was tight and green, and it took even a powerful man like Fenn a lot of pounding with the maul to make it split. Sevana had plenty of free time, and with it she watched the road, waiting for Joel to appear.

Finally, after wandering around the bend to try to catch sight of him, she saw Glacier leading the flock into view and Joel following at their end. Then the reality of his leaving hit her in a way it could not, without seeing him walking lightfootedly down the road with a pack strapped to his back and Goldthread looped around his neck, and Flint beside him also tied down under a bulky load. Suddenly she realized he was going to keep walking down the mountain, and once he was lost from sight, he would be lost to her…perhaps forever. Stricken, she stood like a statue in the road, while the sheep streamed around her like water running around a stone—without her even noticing them, for once.

“Sevana!” Joel hailed her as he approached. “I didn’t think I’d ever get loaded up, but I’m off at last.” His eyes were alight and he was smiling; he had the look of a man doing what he wanted to do.

But Sevana’s eyes held no answering brightness—they were dark and murky and frightened. “Oh, Joel, I may never see you again,” she said, speaking the only thought in her head.

“See me again?” He sounded surprised. “Of course you will. I might be back before you leave. But if not, I know where to find you. I’ll be paying a visit to my sheepman this fall.” He set Goldthread on the ground. “And anyway, I’ll be at your first autographing party. I’m going to buy a signed original.”

He said it with such conviction she almost believed him. At any rate, it would have to suffice. Whatever was going to happen, would happen; her preference would not change the course of fate.

“How’s Goldthread?” she asked.

“Good as new. But I’ll carry him once in a while, just to be on the safe side.”

“And all the other lambs, too, so they won’t feel left out?” She found she could still tease him, even though the weight lay heavy on her heart.

He accepted the remark with his natural humor. “No, they’ll have to walk, this trip. But we’ll take it slow. I’m going to add another day or two for more grazing and rest along the way.”

He went down the road after the flock, and Sevana fell into step with him. There was a difference in the sheep she could mark. Their heads were up, their ears were up, and the lambs were even more ill-content than usual to walk placidly—prancing and cavorting as well as they could within their ranks. “The sheep seem different today,” she said. “It’s almost as if they know where you’re taking them.”

“The older ones do know,” he answered, “and there’s nothing they like better. And the little ones are excited because the others are.”

Sevana felt disheartened, deserted, confined to her small world, while he went off to adventure high and free. She wanted to beg him to let her go with him—but she kept quiet, knowing it would do no good.

They came to Fenn, swinging his might into the hard wood. He stopped to wipe the sweat off his forehead and leaned on the axe, watching the sheep go by.

“Hello, neighbor,” said Joel, giving Glacier the command to stop.

Fenn gave him a nod. “Headed for the high country, I see.”