Time Is a River (2 page)

Mia warily eyed the black iron behemoth that dominated the small kitchen. “Is it safe?”

“This thing? As far as I know it’s in working condition. No warping or cracks. This one was taken care of, you can tell. Though it sat here for a long while.” Her face softened and she spoke with a tone of reminiscence. “My mama had a wood-burning stove in our house in Virginia. We also had a modern one, of course, but she had a soft spot for the old ones. She used to claim a biscuit tasted best when baked in an old cast-iron stove. I’m kind of partial to them myself. Nothing better to keep a house warm on a cold night. I intend to keep this beauty. It’s a collector’s item.” She patted the cast iron and said, “They just don’t build ’em like they used to.”

Belle opened the enamel oven door, then let it slam shut with a grimace. “Looks like some mice and critters took up residence in there. Just needs a good cleaning out. This oven will burn with some dry wood.”

“I’m never cooking on that thing.”

“Never say never. When the electricity goes out, and it will with every big storm, you’ll be glad to have this old wood-burning stove around. Otherwise, this here gas stove might only have two burners but it’ll do the job for you. Same with this old fridge.”

She pointed to a small enamel fridge with rounded edges. Both it and the stove looked like they were bought after the war. Which war, Mia didn’t dare guess.

Belle opened the fridge. It was heavy but swung easily. The inside was clean. “It’s a bit rusty. But it’s cold. A guy I know comes in to check on the place to make sure everything is in working order.”

“With my cooking, it won’t make much of a difference. But I
am
curious about the bathroom.”

“You mean the outhouse?”

Mia’s face froze.

Belle laughed. “Sorry, it was too easy. It’s over here.”

The small room had only one undersize window and was hardly a place for a luxurious soak. The porcelain commode was minuscule, the tiny sink had a nasty crack, and the claw-footed tub was badly stained. “There’s only cold running water. That’s spring water. So when I say cold, I mean cold.”

“As long as I can pee without something coming up to bite me in the ass, I’ll manage.”

“I hear that.” Belle shook her head and chuckled. “I’m installing a new hot-water heater. I’ll prod George to get going on that right away. Until then, you’ll have to heat water on the stove. OK, let’s see what we got in here.” She moved on to the small room next to the bathroom and opened the door.

Perhaps it was the whisk of wind from the opened door. Or maybe it was the pale white linen against the window, but something made the hairs along Mia’s neck rise when she stepped into the bedroom.

“There should be a light switch somewhere,” Belle said, fumbling along the wall. Finding none, she walked to the small bedside lamp. “There, that’s better,” she said as soft light filled the room.

“Why, this is a
woman’s
room,” Mia said, surprised. She’d expected to find rotting waders and boots, red and black checked wool blankets, and other masculine items. Instead the black iron bed was made up with a linen quilt and shams boldly embroidered with flowers and the dark green initials
KW
. A jewel-toned hooked rug lay beneath the bed, and over a long mahogany dresser was an elaborate Venetian mirror that was out of place against the rough cabin walls.

Belle’s face was sober. “It was.” She turned on her heel and walked out. “Let’s see what’s upstairs.”

Mia had a thousand questions lingering on her tongue to ask about the woman who loved fine, feminine things but lived out here in the wilderness. But she refrained from asking even one and, instead, silently followed Belle up the steep, narrow stairs. This was a gaunt room, barren of furniture save for a window seat under a row of dingy, small windows. At one end sat another fireplace, smaller than the one downstairs. An old wooden toy lay beside it. Curious, Mia went to pick it up.

“It’s a toy caboose! Someone carved it from a single piece of wood. It’s beautifully done.” She handed it to Belle. “Odd that it’s here in a fishing cabin.”

Belle took the toy and lifted it in her hand as though weighing it. “Back when, this would have been a garret where they put the bunks for fishing trips.” Then, handing the caboose back to her, she added, “But my mother was raised in this house, so I guess it’s likely she played in here.”

“Your mother grew up in this cabin?” It seemed impossible that any child would be brought up in such a remote place.

“That’s right.”

“Was that her room downstairs?”

Belle shook her head. “My mother married young and left soon after. She never came back. I never knew my grandmother. That was her room.” Belle spoke through tightened lips and her tone implied that she didn’t want to discuss this further.

When they returned to the main room Belle appeared restless. She walked around pulling the sheets off the few pieces of furniture. The Victorian pieces were large and cumbersome, more fitting a grand room than a small wood cabin. An ornate, blue velvet sofa was badly faded and worn. The pedestal mahogany dining table was too large for the small space even with all the leaves removed. Most imposing of all was an enormous armoire adorned with the carving of the head of a stag with antlers.

“Wow,” was all Mia could say.

“They look ridiculous in here.”

“They’re beautiful. Just…out of place.”

Belle scowled as she looked at them. “Everything about this place is, well, never mind.” She rolled up the sheets with a punching motion. Then she turned to face Mia.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered this place to you. It’s really rough and I’m worried whether you’re up to staying this far out on your own. This isn’t some romantic getaway. You can’t pick up the phone and order room service. I care about you but I’m not going to be able to be at your beck and call. I’m going out of town soon and I won’t be here to look out after you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she replied defensively. Though in her heart, that was exactly what she hoped for.

“This part of western North Carolina has high mountains, small towns, and a lot of wilderness in between. Your cell phone is unreliable if you have an emergency. If you get a lot of rain you’ll need a four-wheel drive to get out. You’re probably stuck right now. And what are you going to do if the power goes out? It gets cold up here. Do you even know how to start a fire?”

“I was a Girl Scout. And I’ve got matches.”

Belle’s hand slid to her head and she scratched it. “Can you shoot?”

Mia laughed lightly. “A gun? Good God, no.”

“It’d be better if you did. What are you going to do if some animal comes knockin’ on your door?”

“Human or other?”

“I’m serious. I’m not just talking about little raccoons. There are bears and venomous snakes to deal with. Maybe a sick or rabid animal. They’re dangerous and you’ve got to know how to recognize them and deal with them. And you have to know your way around. You can get lost in these mountains and no one would know.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“I’m trying to tell you what’s real up here. Nature isn’t always pretty. It can be damned heartless.”

Mia’s heart began pounding as a knot of pressure caused her throat to tighten. “I know about cruel and heartless.”

Belle shook her head and looked at her boots. “Shit. Mia, I didn’t mean that.”

“I know what you meant.” She hated the tears that were welling in her eyes. “Belle, I know I’m not a mountain woman—far from it. I’ve got a lot to learn. But hey. You called me a survivor. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Mia, it does. Of course. But be realistic.”

“I am. My reality is pretty harsh. I’m thirty-eight and I’ve lost my left breast, my hair, my job, and my husband. I haven’t any money to rent a place. This is my only chance! I have to stay. Belle, I have to find out what the hell I’m surviving for.”

She was embarrassed for the flash of pain in her eyes that compelled Belle to turn away. She lowered her tone but her voice still trembled. “So much has happened so fast I haven’t had a chance to make sense of what’s happened to my body…to
me.
A survivor? I’ve never felt so lost or afraid. But I’m more afraid of going back home than anything I might face here.”

Belle shifted her weight and crossed her arms in thought. Mia knew that as a guide Belle took inexperienced men and women into the wild every day. She’d seen some pretty stupid things damn near get folks killed, and it made her cautious. Mia also knew that Belle saw her as weakened, damaged. It would be against her nature to leave someone wounded and inexperienced alone in the wilderness. Yet Belle had witnessed the courage of the survivors at the retreat.

“Please, Belle. Let me stay.”

Belle looked at the rain splattering the glass. When she turned again to Mia, she saw that the woman’s mind was made up.

“You’ll have to return home someday, you know. You can’t hide out here forever.”

Mia took a breath, unaware that she’d been holding it. “Even Sleeping Beauty had to wake up sometime.”

Belle returned a commiserating smile. “This is a far cry from a palace. But it’s a start.” She took a deep breath, resigned to her decision. She leaned against the table and uncrossed her arms. “Mia, I inherited the cabin only last winter after my mother died. Like I said, she and my grandmother had a falling out and didn’t communicate, not once in my lifetime, so I never came up here, never saw the place.” She stopped. “Truth is, I never wanted to come.” She pursed her lips, holding in words.

“After the funeral I got the deed and the keys,” Belle continued, her dark gaze sweeping again the cabin, “I felt duty bound to take a look. It gets pretty cold up here in the winter. The roads were icing up and I didn’t spend much time. It was really nothing more than a walk-through. Maybe it was grief that blinded me, I don’t know, but it didn’t look so bad back then. My plan was to clean it up this summer, maybe get the place rewired, make a few improvements, and add that water heater. Get it ready before the fall hunting and fishing season kicked in. Then I figured I’d rent it.” Belle looked at her boots. “But I don’t have money to pour into it and I’ll be in Scotland most of the summer.”

“But that’s our deal. I’ll clean it for you in exchange for rent.”

“I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a lifesaver. And I’m a hard worker. I’ll get it done.” She smirked. “Even that old stove.”

Belle whistled softly, acknowledging the battle that task would be. She walked over to the box and pulled out a bottle of white wine. “You’re going to need this.”

“Bless you.”

Next she took out a down blanket, fresh sheets, several candles, a big bar of soap, white towels, rolls of bathroom tissue, and lastly a bag from a fast-food restaurant. The scent of greasy French fries and hot coffee wafted into the air. When she was done she turned to Mia, studying her again.

“This isn’t some wager, Mia. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t want you to think you’re failing if you decide it isn’t working for you up here.”

“I won’t,” she said, and felt enormously grateful.

“Tell you what, friend. Let’s take it a week at a time. No commitments. You might get antsy up here all alone, or come face-to-face with a bear and commence running.”

Mia chuckled softly. “I just might. Week by week it is.”

“And you know I have to rent it in the fall,” she said in warning. “If you want to stay longer, it’ll cost you.”

“One summer,” Mia agreed. “Right now, that feels like a lifetime.”

Before leaving, Belle helped Mia put the fresh sheets on the bed and lit a roaring fire that warmed the cabin and took the edge off the stark sense of isolation. Belle also gave her a local map of Asheville and its surrounding areas and marked the location of the cabin with a big X. Then she drew the unmarked road that would lead her from the cabin to Watkins Mill, the nearest town.

Belle turned at the door and hugged Mia fiercely. “I care about you, kiddo. Fighting demons is all fine and good. But sometimes you just have to have a good time. Be good to yourself up here. And remember. Trout live in beautiful places.”

N
ight falls heavy in the mountains. Once settled, the darkness has a presence that is palpable.

Mia sat on the ancient velvet sofa, wrapped in a wool blanket that smelled of must and smoke. She should have fallen asleep in exhaustion, yet her mind would not rest. It kept traveling over the same rugged terrain of memories, carrying her, an unwilling passenger, along.

It was a dank night and the old cabin was cobwebbed and filthy, more fit for bear than human. Across from her the logs smoldered in the fireplace. She idly stoked the embers and watched the flames lick and snap at the wood. Mia was acutely aware that she was utterly alone, without a telephone, television, radio, or any man-made distraction to deflect the night’s power. She felt an overwhelming loneliness. It was so strong it felt like a sickness. It made her head pound and her body shiver, no matter how tight her thin arms held the blanket around her shoulders.

Perhaps Belle was right after all, she thought. What was she doing here? Was she clutching to some romantic notion of a cabin in the woods? Of being alone in the mountains so she could sort out her life? But that was just it—
she was alone in the mountains.
Be careful what you wish for, she chided herself. This wasn’t some silly notion any longer. It was all very real. The dust and dark were real. The hoots and snaps and rustlings outside the window were real. No one would come running if she called for help. The power could go out at any moment, and then what would she do?

Outside the wind continued to blow and the hovering trees scraped their branches against the glass, like bony fingers tapping to get in. Her mind started playing tricks on her and she wondered wildly if that tapping wasn’t a tree, but a bear…or a man? She’d read
Deliverance.
She knew what could happen in the wild of these mountains where men with bad teeth and worse lineage roamed. Three eerie, mournful hoots of an owl broke the silence, ending with a catlike snarl.

The last time she was in the mountains she was at the retreat with eighteen other women. There had been comfort in camaraderie. Here, the blackness outside felt too big, the unknown too threatening. Blood drumming in her ears, Mia jumped up to close and lock each of the windows, then tugged the thin curtains shut.

She crossed the creaking floor to the kitchen. The old wood stove was a hulking beast in the corner. She skirted around it and commenced opening the drawers, her spirits sinking further at the mice droppings and medieval-looking kitchen appliances she found. She pulled out a ten-inch carving knife with a thick, wooden handle. It was heavy—probably used to skin a bear—but it made a very serious weapon. She carried it with her as she checked again the lock on the front door, and then for good measure wedged a chair under the door handle.

In the bedroom she repeated the ritual. As she tugged closed the wafer-thin curtains, a large, black spider crawled out from the corner, scurrying across the pane. Mia screamed and ran across the room to stare back, frozen, knife at the ready. She was terrified of spiders. Where was Charles? she thought wildly. He was the one she’d call now to be the hunter and catch his prey.

He was gone, she told herself. There was no one to call. Up here, there was only her. She clenched the knife at her side and willed her heartbeat to steady. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep with a spider crawling over her head, she knew. Mia prowled the cabin and found a broom. Rolling it in her hands, she mustered her courage. In her mind the spider had grown to a big, hairy tarantula lying in wait behind the curtains. Gingerly, with shaky hands, she stuck out the broom and moved back the curtain. The spider was gone. Cursing, she shook out all the bed linens, poked the cobwebs from each window, then got on her knees, dust rising as she swept under the bed. The spider had disappeared.

The wind gusted outside, rattling the windows. It sounded to her like the cabin was laughing at her. With a resigned sigh, she set the broom against the wall beside the bed. She undressed quickly and pulled on a pair of thick flannel pajamas. Weary, she sat on the mattress, surprised at how soft and comfortable it was. Good for you, Mountain Woman, she thought, relishing the first real comfort she’d felt that day.

The bottoms of her socks were sooty from the floor. She hated wearing dirty clothes, but it was so damp and cold in the cabin, and her toes felt like ice. So she rammed her feet under the fresh sheets and pulled the down blanket high up around her ears. The pillow was lumpy but Belle’s linen smelled of fabric softener. Lumpy or musty, it didn’t matter to her. This bed held no memories of her marriage. She lifted her head once more to check that the knife was on the small bedside table. She kept the light on. Then she lowered her head and clutched the pillow, grasping small comforts where she could find them.

Mia lay with her eyes wide open. The wind whistled and she tensed at every snap and crackle from the fire. She was sure she heard something small rustling in the other room. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going after it.

Time passed and the rain slackened. Mia lay awake, clutching her blanket close to her neck. Every time her lids grew heavy she saw Charles again and snapped them open. No matter how she tried to train her mind on something else—anything else—the memory pushed itself back, forcing her to see again the painful images. The branch tapping on the window was like a finger tapping on her shoulder—
remember, remember, remember.
Tired and beaten by despair, Mia fell into her memories.

Just yesterday she had been standing in the river with Belle, bubbling over with joy and hope for the future after catching her first trout. Mia didn’t want to wait to share her joy with Charles, the man whom she’d thought would stand by her through the long years of recovery. She decided to leave the retreat early. She woke and drove straight from Asheville to Charleston. It was Monday morning and Charles would be at his desk at the firm he’d joined directly from law school.

While driving she thought of how they’d shared some lean times in the early days of their marriage. But they were so happy they didn’t seem to notice. Spare dimes went for a bottle of wine or a movie. Sometimes he’d surprised her with a bunch of daisies when he returned from work. She’d told him daisies were her favorite flower, knowing they were cheap. So she’d picked up a bunch of daisies from a street vendor en route. She planned to shower, primp, and then surprise him for lunch.

It was she who was surprised when she saw his car in the driveway at home. Instinct flared, warning her to call out his name as she normally would when she walked into the house. Yet some inner voice told her to be quiet as she wound her way through the empty living room and up the narrow, carpeted stairs to the bedroom they’d shared for nearly ten years. The bedroom door was closed, and from behind she heard the muffled moans of a man and a woman. Her body tingled with adrenaline. Time slowed and her mind balked at accepting what was already ridiculously obvious. This couldn’t be happening to her…to them. It was too banal, too much of a cliché.

Her hand shook as she raised it to the paneled door. She gave a single push and with a whisper of air it swung open, revealing by degrees two pairs of feet, long legs entangled, a man’s naked form clutching at a pair of scarlet panties riding high along a perfectly tanned and rounded ass.

It was the woman’s breasts, however, that riveted her attention. They were creamy white and firm with large, rosy nipples as if from a seventeenth-century painting. She watched as her husband burrowed his face in their softness, groaning, obviously relishing the feast of the woman’s perfection. Mia wanted to run but she could not tear her gaze from the woman’s breasts. They were so round, so large—and they were real, not some fabrication of silicone inserted beneath the skin. What hurt the most was that Charles had not merely cheated on her, but he had chosen a woman with beautiful, unscarred, perfect breasts.

“It’s not what you think,” he blurted out when he finally sensed someone watching. He’d startled at the sight of the tall, waiflike figure standing at the bedroom door, expressionless, her arms limp at her sides, a bunch of daisies dangling from her fingers.

“In three more minutes it would have been exactly what I think,” she replied in a calm voice that belied the shaking in her gut.

Charles tossed the sheets over the woman’s nakedness. The woman’s long, black hair cascaded over her shoulders as she raised herself on one elbow. A rosy tint spread across her cheeks and breasts, like dawn on the mountains.

He rose from the bed, unconcerned with his own nakedness. Her gaze dropped to his flagging erection pointing outward like a drawn sword. She turned away in disgust.

“Mia, wait—”

“Get away from me!” She threw the daisies at him, then turned and ran down the stairs. She was shaking violently now, feeling the bile rising in her throat. All she wanted now was to save some shred of her dignity and get away.

In her haste, she tripped over Charles’s golf clubs, catching herself on the fender of his BMW before hitting the garage floor. The titanium clubs were Charles’s pride and joy. They’d cost a fortune and he used them only when he wanted to impress someone. He used to joke that in case of a fire he’d have a hard time choosing whether to save her or the clubs. A fulcrum of fury whipped through her, crazy and irrational. She picked up the golf bag and dragged the clubs across the floor to toss them into her trunk. It was senseless but she had to take something precious away from him, as he had ripped away something precious from her. The clubs landed with a satisfying crash. She drove off just as Charles came trotting barefoot from the house, calling her name and tying the sash around his robe. She could still hear his voice calling her name.

Mia pushed back the covers, rising up from the mattress and gasping for air. Her heart was beating wildly. She climbed from the bed and paced the room, pushing her palms flat against her feverish face. The memory of Charles’s betrayal burned so hot that her body was sweaty. She felt nauseous and dizzy. Oh God, she thought. Her face felt like peach fuzz. Was she going to faint?

She went to the bathroom, splashed icy water on her face, then held on tight to the rim of the porcelain sink and took deep, calming breaths. No, no, no, she thought, exhaling slowly. She knew what this was. This was not a heart attack. This was what it felt like to have your heart broken.

Gradually her breathing came back to normal. Mia slowly rose and pushed back her damp hair from her forehead. Wake up, she told herself, looking at her pale face in the mirror. Charles was not the good husband, always by her side during each step of her cancer recovery. Why had she convinced herself that he was? Was it easier for her to make excuses for him than to face the truth?

Mia pushed her hair from her face, determined not to think about him. She needed to set her mind on something else. Her socks shuffled across the dusty floors to the bookcase. She pulled out the first book she touched:
The Awakening
by Kate Chopin. Books had always been a comfort to her and this one was an old friend. She carried the slim volume back to the black iron bed, depending on the words to be her solace through the long, lonely hours till dawn. Outside the cabin, the rain was still coming down but the thunder had retreated to a soft rumbling in the distance. The storm was passing.

Mia fought sleep, reading until her eyes grew heavy and the words blurred on the page. It was very late when she relinquished and closed the book. She set it beside the knife and the diminutive, milky white lamp on the table. Behind it rested the wood-poled broom. They were a pitiful arsenal against the terrors of the night. Before turning out the light, she looked across the bedroom. The walls, the iron bed, the mirror, every splinter of wood felt hostile. Belle had told her that she was the first to sleep in this house in many years. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was invading a private space. Yet Belle had given her permission to stay.

Then she thought again of the woman who had lived here before, the woman who brought fine things to the wilderness, who chose isolation as Mia had, whose room this once was. This woman had not granted permission for a stranger to stay in her home. So Mia offered the same words that she’d said to Belle, saying them aloud for no reason she could articulate.

“Please. Let me stay.”

A soft breeze fluttered the curtains, though the windows were closed. Mia’s breath hitched and she closed her eyes tight and burrowed deep under the covers. Enveloped in the scent of cedar, caught in the eddy of memories, she knew that sleep would not come easily.

Mia woke to the piercing light that poured in through the narrow slit between the curtains. Her body was sweaty under the blankets and, kicking them off, the heat from the closed room felt like an oven. She turned to her side, tucking her clasped hands beneath her cheek, feeling the remnants of her bleak despair. It had been an arduous night of tossing and turning in the stifling room. She’d been haunted not by some woman’s ghost, but by memories of Charles and her during happier times. It felt like he was dead, only worse. She grieved the loss of all the trust and love they’d shared for nearly ten years. To have that relationship cut off so quickly, so cruelly, left her bleeding. She felt the pain like a phantom limb.

Awakening fully, she slowly rose and shuffled into the main room. The hems of her flannel pajamas dragged a trail in the dust. The fire had died and the scent of cold ashes lay heavy in the air. This little cabin—a living room, a bedroom on the left, a narrow kitchen and eating area on the right, an upstairs room—would be her home for the next few months. Pale light attempted to pierce the yellowed, gauzy curtains at the windows, giving the room an aura of gloom. She unlocked one of the windows and pushed hard. The old wood rattled up the frame.