Stony River (44 page)

She ate her stew slowly. The vegetables tasted good, even if they were only potatoes and carrots. Fenn hadn’t been to town in a long time. Sometimes she fantasized about a leafy salad. Her upbringing had never taught her that lettuce was a precious, sometimes unobtainable, commodity. Right now in Toronto, people were enjoying the peak of fall harvest, the farmers’ markets inundated with so many fruits and vegetables that some would go to waste—and here they sat with their potatoes and carrots as usual, and the hard dry apples from their off-site tree.

The following week Fenn continued his after-work hunts with a zeal bordering devotion, still without success. But he remained unperturbed. “I’ll get one,” he said, over one of those late dinners in the smoky kitchen, with the fire glinting in the open stove grate, and the black ridgeline outside the window stretching crookedly across the sky like the wings of a great raven. “Always do.”

The silence was interrupted by the sound of rain hitting the roof. “Listen to that,” said Sevana. “You got home just in time.”

In the morning the trees and ground were white, and it was snowing like the middle of winter. Sevana stood at the door looking into the early-morning dark in utter astonishment. “Fenn,” she cried, “it can’t be winter yet! The leaves haven’t even fallen!”

“It won’t last.” Fenn stood behind her looking out, too. “It’s nothing unusual to get a storm this time of year, but it melts off fast.”

He went to work that day in wool pants and felt-lined packboots, driving away in the snowstorm. But the flakes were already turning wet and heavy, and soon the sun came out, melting away the white landscape. Nevertheless the snow had done its work, signaling to Sevana the lateness of the season…a reminder that her time there was drawing to a close.

That evening Fenn came home from a long shift irate because he’d wasted the entire day driving to Nelson to pick up a radiator for the loader, only to find that Hawk—fool that he was—had ordered the wrong one. “I ought to quit right now and find someone to work for who isn’t missing all his screws,” he said, spitefully jabbing sticks into the firebox.

Sevana looked up from setting the plates on the table. “Are you going to?” she asked, thinking he really might.

“Not this winter, sorry to say. But one more year and this place will be paid off, and it’ll be goodbye Hawk and in business for myself.” He swung the stove door shut hard.

“What will you do then?”

He shrugged indifferently. “Gyppo logging, gold panning, trapping. Anything I can do, that I can do by myself.”

“Hermit,” mused Sevana, speaking the thought aloud. “You’ll be the fierce old man up in the mountains that everybody in Cragmont will be afraid of, and make up stories about.”

He glared at her. “Just so they leave me alone.”

“But I’ll know better, and I won’t believe their stories,” she persisted solemnly. “Even if you shut out the rest of the world, you won’t shut me out, will you, Fenn? You’ll still let me come back to see you sometimes, won’t you?”

“And where will you be, that you would want to come back to this out-of-the-way place?” he asked, eyes slitted, like a wild animal wary of being cornered.

“Wherever I am, this place will never be out of the way to me,” she said simply.

He didn’t answer. He picked up the water pail and went outside.

It wasn’t until halfway through dinner he remembered the letter in his pocket and tossed it her direction. Sevana saw it was from her father and stopped eating to read it. He wrote that it was getting toward school time, and Fenn was to help her find a good place in Lethbridge and make sure she was situated before he left her there. She was to call when she was settled. He had enclosed money for the first few months of rent. If Fenn didn’t cooperate fully, she was to let him know at once.

Here it was, she thought—exactly what she’d been thinking about that day. She told Fenn what her father had said in words much more diplomatic than those written, but even so, he resented it. “What does he think I’d do—just dump you off on a street corner?” he snapped.

She looked at his scowling face, and had to make a conscious effort not to say the thing that came readily to her tongue—that yes, it had probably crossed his mind.

“When do you want to go?” was Fenn’s next question.

She hesitated. She had planned to leave about that time, but now she wanted to stay as long as possible in case Joel came back. “I’d rather stay here a few more weeks—if you don’t mind,” she replied. “I’d like to spend as much time here as I can, before I have to go to the city.”

As soon as she’d said it, she knew she’d struck a responsive chord with Fenn. If there was anything he could identify with, it was a dislike of civilization. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he said almost agreeably. “I’ll put off a trip to Lethbridge as long as I can.”

But the thought of the impending move stayed with Sevana, and after dinner she slipped down to the sitting rock to think about it. Life here was so sheltered, tucked inbetween the big ranges. Slow and quiet…it was difficult to realize that life was going on in other places. But now she could feel that shelter beginning to give way. Soon she would be on her own in an unknown city. The snows would come and blanket the mountain, and she would not see it; then spring would come with new grass in the meadows and the lambs would dance, and she would be far away. She knew she had to go—her own dreams were calling her to pursue them. But even so, she wanted to savor to the fullest every moment left to her there, and spend as much time as she could in each of her favorite places.

The canyon was in full shadow now, but the piled-up cloudbanks drifting over the valley walls were beginning to color in a rare sunset. She stepped out on the open bank for a better view. As those glowing clouds intensified, they cast a surreal ruby light over the whole corridor, and the river shimmered blush-crimson in reflection. Sevana stood captivated at the sight of the water curving away between the dark-green forests in a gleaming, rose-glossed ribbon as far as she could see, and it was so extraordinary, she wished she could share it with someone.

As the dreamlike tint on the water and clouds dwindled into a shell-pink twilight, she stayed on the riverbank, unwilling to miss a moment of the magic. When the last colors had faded from the channel, leaving only silvery clouds above the steel-gray water and a chill in the damp air, she whimsically cast a pebble toward the river. The light was too dull to see if it skipped or sank; she heard only one small plunk.

Leaving the rivercut, she discovered it was much darker in the enclosed wood, and berated herself for staying too long. Now she would have to walk through an inklike forest full of night creatures to get home. She stumbled through the trees, talking out loud and making all the noise she could—and nothing growled or lunged at her at all. Thankfully, she reached the lighter opening of the road and hurried up the hill.

But something was making her nervous. She looked around, but saw nothing on the light-colored strip of road behind her. Was there a bear in the woods nearby? She hadn’t seen a bear since her first walk. It seemed the bushes rustled slightly. She felt something was watching her there in the dark, with its sharp eyes she couldn’t see. She remembered the habits of cougars. What if one was following her right now? What if it had come to the river for a drink, and had its eye on her even while she was on the rock? Maybe, unknowingly, she had shared the sunset with something after all. The back of her neck prickled, and she turned and ran as fast as she could to the cabin.

Slamming the door, she stood against it breathing hard, relishing the safety of the strong walls blocking her from the wilds outside—even though she had probably imagined the danger. The only light came from the kerosene lamp in the living room. She went to see if Fenn was there. He was sitting in the leather chair, and looked up at her entrance.

“Melanie—” he stood up slowly. “What are you doing here?”

In the muted lampglow, Sevana took in his black empty eyes, sluggish movements, and the small drawstring leather pouch beside him all in an instant. Open-mouthed, it was as though she’d lost the power of speech.

“You came back,” he continued in a gentle tone she hadn’t heard him use before. “I thought you’d never come back.”

Even though her wits felt dull and dazed, Sevana made an effort to speak. “I’m not Melanie.”

He reached for her and pulled her against him.

“No, Fenn—I’m not Melanie, I’m Sevana,” she repeated loudly.

As he bent to kiss her, she slapped his face and yelled, “I’m your sister.”

The slap helped him regain some of his sense. He backed off a few steps. “Sevana,” he murmured distantly. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she said grimly.

“Where’s that egomaniac who wants to run my life for me? Is he here, too?”

“No, Fenn, that was years ago. I’m sure Bryce isn’t holding anything against you. You’re both just so stubborn… Can’t you let it go?”

“Get out of my house,” he ordered. “I want to be alone.”

“All right,” she said to humor him. “But let me put out the lamp. You can sit here by firelight, can’t you?” He didn’t answer, so she turned it out. Then she went upstairs and barricaded her door, at which point her overwrought emotions manifested in a short burst of tears, which she cried silently into her hands so Fenn wouldn’t hear.

She got up early, afraid of what state she would find him in. But instead of being passed out on the floor or asleep in the chair, he had already eaten breakfast and was splashing his face with water. As he reached for his flannel shirt, his eyes had a keep-away look she ignored. “Remember last night?” she asked, feeling stronger and steadier that morning.

“Parts of it,” he said defensively, buttoning his shirt. “I thought you had gone to bed.”

“No, I was at the river. I know what you’re doing, Fenn.”

“So what? It’s only for recreation, and not very often.”

“Some recreation if you burn down the house. I’m surprised you haven’t, yet.”

“I’m not that stupid. It’s just that since you’ve been here, I can’t have the house to myself when I want it.” He was throwing together some kind of lunch with the leftover pancakes and sausage. They were out of mustard, so he used ketchup.

“Lucky for you I’m leaving soon,” she said stiffly. “I’d hate to inconvenience the wrecking of your mind.”

“You don’t have to approve of my life. I told you it was no example of sainthood. And it’s none of your damfool business.”

“I know. You’re right, Fenn.” She spoke boldly to cover her misgivings. “You can kiss me anytime you like.”

“It won’t happen again, okay?” He didn’t seem too sympathetic as he picked up his lunch bucket.

“Okay. But I know somebody who wouldn’t have minded. Melanie. She misses you, Fenn,” she said loudly as he slammed the door.

That night Fenn brought home a broken starter from the jammer to fix, but dropped it on the table in exchange for his hunting rifle and went back out again with no more than a few necessary words to her. Sevana knew he still begrudged her the confrontation of the morning—and she likewise had little to say.

Deciding not to fry the venison steaks until he came back, she used the time to do laundry. She had a wet heap of his wrung-out trousers mounded on the counter when he walked in the door. She took one look at him and leaned weakly against the counter. The front of his shirt was covered with blood, he had blood up to his elbows, and even some on his pants. “What happened?” she gasped out. It was only his very much alive appearance that kept her from total fright.

“I got a bear,” Fenn said impatiently, standing the rifle in the corner.

She did feel foolish then, but she hadn’t thought getting a bear would involve looking so—gruesome.

He came over to the counter and dumped a blood-soaked cloth bag into a basin. “Haven’t started dinner yet, have you? Just chop this up and add a can of tomato sauce and let it boil. It’s good over biscuits.”

“You can’t mean to eat
that
!
” She was aghast at the sight of the glistening entrails. Wild game was bad enough, but this was a whole different story.

“Don’t judge it till you taste it,” he rejoined. “S.O.B. Stew—it’s a logging camp specialty.”

Sevana had no intention of tasting it, and she thought about refusing to cook it as well—but since he’d asked her to, she choked back her disgust and cut up the choice assortment into a kettle. When the whole mess was set to simmer and she had washed her hands with hot water and soap until she’d practically rubbed the skin off, she went to find Fenn struggling to string up the limp, furry form at the barn.

“Nice coat, isn’t it?” he said, giving a last heave and securing the rope tight around a rafter. He was a little out of breath. “Never gotten one with such a cinnamon color to it before. I’m going to tan it.”

He was in a high mood, and took it upon himself to describe the details of how he’d gotten it. Sevana acted glad for his sake, but she didn’t like to think of it; and when he began skinning it, she went back to the house feeling a little sick—the smell of stewing innards contributing not substantially to her recovery.

Randall glided in and out to document Fenn’s bear tag with the eerie precision of a turkey buzzard. There was really no way Randall could have known that Fenn had gotten a bear right there on their own mountain only a few hours ago, deep in the forest with no one around, but he knew anyway. They sat down to a late meal, Fenn still in his bloody clothes. Sevana could barely swallow her biscuits plain—but Fenn covered his with the brown gravylike concoction, and ate and ate. “Too bad you only get this once a year,” he said, smacking his lips.