Until Spring (17 page)

A man who worked at an employment agency had promised her a pleasant office job if she'd move in with him, and a teenage newspaper vendor had once blurted that he had a crush on her. And a wino in a shelter had forced his attentions on her until she was rescued by a minister who was there to provide chaplain services.

She might say that her experiences with men had been less than satisfying or, being honest with herself, that they'd mostly been terrifying. It wasn't easy to trust men after what she'd been through.

She reminded herself of a few standouts: the concerned and kindly Dr. Bergstrom, who had treated her after she was found in the ditch; a thoughtful shelter attendant who had let her stay in the building to use the house phone to look for work during the day when homeless people were expected to vacate the premises; and, of course, Duncan.

Duncan. She liked him so much. If she were ever to fall in love with someone, she hoped it would be with someone like him.

In a sense, Jane was curious. She knew her experience with men had been mostly limited to the deadbeats, the down-and-outers, the immoral and the lechers. This was not a fair cross section of American men. It was reassuring that someone of Duncan's caliber thought she was beautiful, liked her, and was physically attracted to her.

Duncan had always made it clear that he recognized her as a real person, someone unique. When he kissed her, he was reaffirming that sense of herself that she had long hoped to develop. Also, and this surprised her, she had liked kissing him. She hadn't pulled away. But she knew that what she felt wasn't love.

Though she had had little experience as far as she knew, she understood what went on in a physical relationship between men and women. She had heard plenty of talk about it; there were all those affairs on the daytime dramas, and when she'd lived on the streets, she had even seen frantic, shadowed real-life couplings. That kind of thing seemed ugly and shameful. She had never had any doubt that love was the ingredient that made sex worthwhile.

But to make love—ah, that was an experience that she had begun to anticipate with pleasure. To lie in a man's arms, to be cherished and adored so much that he wanted to be that close to you and you to him; it seemed like a wondrous way to express affection.

When she thought about it, she couldn't imagine the act of intercourse taking place without love. It was a value left over from her past life, her other life, the one she'd had before she became Jane Rhodes. That and other values kept popping up out of nowhere, often confounding her. How did she know that love made what went on between men and women special? If she had experienced it in her past life, it was one of the things that she longed to remember.

Her attitude toward love caused her to wonder if she had ever been in love, just as her knowledge of fabrics and sewing inspired the question,
Did I lead a very domestic sort of life? The kind where I often sewed, say, for my children?
Had there been a man to love, children for whom she sewed little overalls and pajamas, dancing costumes and dresses? If she was married, had they been happy? Was someone distraught about her disappearance and waiting for her to come home?

Duncan's kiss had shown her that she was ready to learn more about herself, including satisfying her curiosity about a real relationship with a man, present as well as past. She'd meant it when she'd told him that she thought he was lucky to have been married once.

She stood up, tossed the fabric onto the floor, and went to the window where she could see the barn. She half wanted to march over there and confide her feelings to Duncan because he was the only person she had to talk to.

Only this was something she couldn't discuss with Duncan.

She sighed and picked up a large piece of blue wool. She loved the way it felt between her fingers, and she idly inspected the warp and woof of the fabric. Warp and woof? How did she know those terms? The warp was the thread that ran lengthwise in the loom, and the woof was the name for the threads that crossed the warp.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, overcome by this glimpse of knowledge. She hadn't known that she knew anything about fabric or how it was made. The information had merely arrived unbidden out of that vast black store hidden somewhere within her brain.

What else did she know that she couldn't call to mind? Would she ever remember all of it, or even most? In the future, what important snippets of her past would drift into her consciousness from time to time, perplexing and confusing her? How would she deal with them when they did?

And what if she developed a relationship with a man, and then one day the memory of her husband and children surfaced? What on earth would she do then? Who would come first—her old family or her new relationship?

How would she deal with something like that?

Chapter 9

Any concerns about getting too close to Duncan were squelched by the distance he effectively put between them during the ensuing week. He spent long hours in the barn, barely talked to her at meals, and either rode into Durkee or went over to Rooney's every night. She watched television and waited for his tread on the back porch in the evenings. Most of the time she was already asleep when he came home.

She missed the easy rapport that had developed between them, but at least she had Mary Kate for company. Mary Kate continued to drop by every day after school.

One day Mary Kate arrived at her usual time, and Jane hurried to let her in.

"Hi, Jane," Mary Kate said breezily as she dumped her book bag on the couch. "Let's go over and talk to the llamas today."

Without too much regret, Jane turned off the TV.

"Okay," she said, slipping on her coat. "Maybe you can explain more about their ear movements to me." This was something that they had only briefly touched upon on their other visits to the llamas, and Mary Kate was pleased to oblige Jane's request.

"Grandpa says that the Indians in Peru called the llamas their silent brothers," Mary Kate said importantly as they shoved their hands deep into their pockets for warmth and headed toward the barn. "That's silly, I think, because everyone knows that llamas hum, and that isn't what I call silent. Anyway, they communicate in other ways. Duncan calls it body language."

"Give me an example of llama body language," Jane suggested as they reached the pen and Mary Kate unlatched the gate. Jane went through and left Mary Kate to put the latch back on. Dearling knew Jane now, and she was always friendly to her.

"Well, see how Crystal's ears are laid back? That means she feels unhappy or maybe threatened. And see how Dearling's ears are perked forward? She's interested in you. Sometimes when I want to get the llamas to do something, I just put my hands up to my ears like this, and I move them the way a llama would in order to say something." Mary Kate put her hands up into the sides of her head and wiggled them at Dearling in llama fashion. Dearling pointed her ears even farther forward. Jane could have sworn that the llama was smiling.

"I don't know what you said in llama ear language, Mary Kate, but Dearling must like it," Jane told her as she stroked Dearling's silky head.

Mary Kate giggled. She hugged Dearling around the neck. "Come on into the barn, Jane. Let's say hello to Flapjack and the other horses."

Dearling followed them as they left the pen, and once again Jane let Mary Kate fasten the latch after them. It was only by chance that she glanced back to observe that the gate was swinging free.

"Mary Kate," she said. "You've left the latch undone."

"Oh, will you fasten it, Jane?" Mary Kate said carelessly.

About this, Jane was prepared to be firm. "
You
do it," she said. "You know that Duncan and your grandfather think gates and latches are very important." She, as well as Mary Kate, knew the results of her irresponsibility on past occasions.

Reluctantly Mary Kate turned and went to the gate, latching it carefully this time so that the llamas were secure. Jane double-checked the bolt to make sure that Mary Kate had done the job right. She could well imagine Duncan's fury if his breeding females were to escape.

In the barn, the horses were in their stalls. Flapjack swung his head around with interest when they approached him.

"Good old Flapjack," Mary Kate said. She went to a sack hanging from a nail on the wall and produced a carrot. "Here," she said to Jane, "you can feed this to him."

Jane held the carrot on the flat of her palm and Flapjack gobbled it down. He was a beautiful animal. His coat was shiny and black, and he had a white star on his forehead. She stroked his nose, and it was like rubbing warm velvet.

Mary Kate led her from stall to stall, reeling off the names of the horses.

"Here's Rabbit, my grandfather's horse. And this is Nellie Mae. Grandpa rides her sometimes. Here's Diggory. Sigrid used to ride him. This is Jericho, my pony, but I'm getting too big for him. Grandpa says he'll have to get me a bigger horse this summer."

"Why don't you just ride Nellie Mae? Or Diggory?"

"Well, I tried to ride Nellie Mae one time and she tried to scrape me off on a fence post. And Diggory's getting kind of old. I want a pretty little mare, maybe a roan. Do you like roans?"

"I don't know much about horses," Jane admitted.

"Well, this summer when I get my mare, you and me can ride together. You could start out on Diggory. He's real gentle."

Jane stopped stroking Diggory's smooth flank and turned toward Mary Kate. "But I told you I wasn't going to be here this summer," she said patiently.

Much to her surprise, Mary Kate's face flushed red except for a white line around her mouth. "I won't let you leave," she said in quiet fury. "I won't."

The child was suffering, Jane could see that. And yet Jane wouldn't, couldn't change her mind.

"Mary Kate, please try to understand. I—"

Mary Kate's blue eyes flashed and she stomped her foot. "You're not leaving here, Jane, you're not!"

"But—"

"You're staying! Forever and ever! I'll hate you if you go away! " And with that Mary Kate wheeled and ran out of the barn, slamming the door behind her so hard that the rafters shook and Nellie Mae let out a startled whinny.

The tantrum had happened so quickly and so fast that it momentarily stunned Jane. She waited for a moment, thinking that a repentant Mary Kate might return as quickly as the angry Mary Kate had slammed out. But the young girl didn't come back, and after a minute or so, Jane looked around and saw Dearling calmly chewing her cud in a corner.

Jane sighed. "Come along, Dearling," she said, putting her arm around the little llama's neck, and an acquiescent Dearling followed Jane as though she was accustomed to doing this every day of her life. When they reached the females' pen, Jane unlatched the gate and shooed Dearling inside, taking care to make sure it was securely fastened when she closed it.

She looked around in vain for Mary Kate. Well, she'd probably run home and was sulking. In any case, Jane didn't feel like discussing her departure again. The child refused to understand that it was inevitable.

Jane felt heavyhearted and sad, wishing she could do something to help Mary Kate, but the more she thought about it after she got back to Duncan's house, the more sensible it seemed to leave well enough alone. Dispiritedly Jane pushed aside Mary Kate's book bag, which lay forgotten on the couch, and resumed hemming a skirt she had made for herself.

After a while, she heard Rooney's pickup truck start up over by the barn and hoped, for the child's sake, that he had decided to take her to town with him. She knew he was going because he'd stopped by earlier to ask if she and Duncan needed anything from the grocery store.

Jane tied off her thread and went into the kitchen to check on the pot roast. In a few minutes, she saw Rooney walking purposefully up the freshly shoveled path to the back door.

She met him there. "I thought you went to town," she said with some surprise.

Rooney's eyebrows were knitted in the middle of his forehead. "I was going to," he said. "Then I heard Duncan take my truck. Do you know where he went?"

"Duncan? I don't think he went anywhere, because he told me he was going to be looking over accounts on his computer in the barn until supper."

"But I heard it start up and thought he must have decided to run an errand."