Within a Man's Heart (5 page)

“Guess what
!” she said, her eyes lighting up again, seemingly dancing this time “he
has
a cabin! It’s small but nice. I mean . . . it’s a lot bigger than this one here. Uncle Wally used to rent it out for the entire summer. The same couple used to come up from Virginia every year. But the husband died a few years back, and the wife, Mrs. Slattery, doesn’t come up here anymore. It’s been just sitting there for three years. My uncle hasn’t bothered to rent it out.”

“
Is that so?” I said, “Where is it?”

“Right up Portland Road!” she came back, pointing to the left. “It’s only about two miles from here. There’s a dirt road that runs back into the forest. Uncle Wally lives at the end of it. He likes to tell everybody he’s got a two-mile driveway because
other than the cabin I’m talking about, there aren’t any other houses. He lives all the way at the end of the road.”

“Well
. . . I don’t know. How far back is the cabin? And who plows the road when it snows in the winter?”

“The town does most of it. They plow to the town line which is about a mile and a half back. They’re responsible for that.”

Gina smiled like a proud little girl then, and said, “Yours truly helps do the rest. My uncle has a plow also, and between the two of us, it’s usually no problem. I give him a hand, and he gives me a few dollars. I also have fourteen driveways I plow, plus the parking lot at the store and the small one at Molly’s Café.”

“No kidding? You really do all that?”

“
Well
, why not? A girl has to do something in these parts to make a living. Between plowing snow, working at the store a couple of days a week, and a few other things, I manage to do okay for myself and my babies.”

Again my spirits took a hit. I glanced down at her finger again, still no ring. Quickly, I looked back up at her saying, “Ohhh? I didn’t know you have children.”

Instead of just looking at my eyes, she now looked into them. For just a second or two she appeared dead serious, as if she were trying to read my thoughts. I knew she was trying to see if the fact that she might have kids bothered me. But her face quickly lost its serious look, and she started laughing. I felt as if the hair on my head was standing up again. She even looked up there for a moment before looking back at me, waving her hand and saying, “
No
, Chris, I don’t have any children. I’m talking about Rex and Roxie, my two Labrador Retrievers.”

Gina stayed about fifteen minutes longer that night. She said she’d ask her Uncle Wally if he’d consider selling the cabin along with a few acres. She told me again where it was and that I could drive by it if I liked. She said there was a long unpaved driveway there, and that the cabin could be seen from her uncle’s road, but just barely.

She also told me the name of the road was “Elkin” Road, and that her great-grandparents settled the thirteen-hundred acres surrounding it way back in 1902. They had also owned the thirty-five acres Connie’s cabins and Gina’s house sat on. Gina said that her deceased father and Uncle Wally had been the sole heirs to all of the land, and that they had struck up a deal together when they inherited it. Her father wanted the property closer to town so he could build the cabins on it. Wally was happy to stay put on the old family homestead. Because of its location, the smaller piece had a much higher value per acre, and over time Wally paid his brother the difference. The larger piece of land had originally been used for logging, just as Elkin Road had. The company that owned it denuded it of all its trees and then sold it off to the Elkin family. After that the company just upped and left, moving their operation up to Northern Maine.

After Gina filled me in on all that, she had to be getting over to her mom’s. When she stood up to leave, and I marveled at her again, she said, “You know what
. . . my mom is having a get together tomorrow night at eight. A few times every year she has a little party and some of our friends and relatives come over. Why don’t you come?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Gina.” I said squirming in the wooden chair. “I wouldn’t know anybody. And I’ve got a lot going on anyway. Maybe we could make it
. . . .”

“Oh come on, Chris! If you’re going to try to settle here
, it would do you good to meet some of the locals.”

“Well
. . . I don’t know,” I said with a hint of resignation in my voice.

“Oh stop. Come on.” she countered. Then
, as if she were waving a carrot, she changed her tone to a tempting one, saying in a sing-song voice, “If it doesn’t rain, there just might be a barbeque!”      

Not saying anything for a moment, I just gave her a little half frown. And she well knew what it meant.

“Okay, okay . . . I’ll come.” I said as I stood up. “Thanks for inviting me. I’ll see you at about eight. Can I bring anything?”

Glancing and nodding at the beer can that was standing on the armrest of my chair, she said, “A few of those would be fine. Don’t worry about bringing anything else.”

She then gave me a warm smile, turned away, and started walking toward her truck. I could have sworn there was a little extra bounce in her step. Then, as she drove away, she waved to me. And she was still smiling.

Hoping For Nirvana

The next morning a cover of low
, gray clouds hung over Mountain Step like an old, flophouse sheet. But neither that nor the light rain falling was about to dampen my spirits. I was too excited to let any of that get to me as I steered up Portland Road. With my wipers slapping away the small drops on the windshield and my second cup of coffee in the console beside me, I tried to imagine what Uncle Wally’s cabin was going to look like. And I didn’t have wait for long. Just minutes after leaving the Contented Moose, the nice lady trapped inside my GPS told me I was coming up to Elkin Road, and that I should turn left there.

The old logging road was very narrow. Flat
, except for two small rises, it cut like a dirt alleyway straight through another forest of unbelievably tall pines. Lined on both sides by a five-foot-deep ditch, the road seemed just wide enough for two vehicles to squeeze by each another if need be. The surface was bit rough in spots with a scattering of small depressions, but by keeping my speed down to twenty-five, I did fine. And after just a few minutes, I came upon a driveway on the right side.

The swath through the trees was slightly curved. I could only see the very edge of the cabin
that was way back in there. Rolling the Volvo forward a foot or so more, I saw a bit more but not much. It was made of logs and had a green metal roof, but that was all I could decipher. I just had to see more. Even though Gina said it had been vacant for quite some time, I still didn’t feel quite right driving in there. But I was very curious now. I looked straight up the road and then into the rearview mirror.
What the hell
, I thought,
I can go in there for five minutes
. I backed up a bit, turned in, and drove slowly over a golden bed of pine needles. As I got closer to the cabin, I whispered to myself, “Wow, would you look at that!” The place had a wide front porch and seemed the perfect size for me. Somewhat bigger than a cabin it was really a log home.

Nestled the way it was in all those skyscraping pines, I felt as if I had pulled into a tranquil corner of God’s green heaven. The front lawn wasn’t all that large but, if the backyard was the same size, you wouldn’t want to be cutting the grass with a push mower. As an added bonus
, there was a double carport alongside the place. And it had a green metal roof just like the house. But I didn’t dare pull beneath it. Still feeling like if I had no right being there, I stopped my SUV in front of the open structure, killed the ignition, and climbed out.

Although the rain had stopped, a heavy drop of water dripped from an overhanging limb and splattered right smack on top of my head. I laughed it off
; then stepped closer to the place. There was no peeking in the front windows because the curtains were drawn. But I did walk around to the back. A small screened porch was there and a nice-sized storage shed. The back lawn was a bit larger than the front, and it had a few blueberry bushes here and there. Everything was perfect. I absolutely loved the place. Finished scoping the place out by now, I stood in the middle of the lawn and looked way up at the tops of the surrounding trees. So far back did I have to tilt my head, that I actually felt a little dizzy. But that didn’t last. As soon as I lowered my head and gaze, somebody pulled into the driveway.

Oh hell, who could that be?

Quickly, I walked around the front of the cabin. Somebody had parked right behind my Volvo. It was a pickup truck with a snowplow
harness, and it wasn’t Gina’s.

The man took a moment getting out. His window was open and a plume of smoke lifted out of it. He then leaned toward the dashboard for a second or two, and I figured he was probably mashing out a cigarette in his ashtray.

He then stepped out of the truck, and the look on his face told me he wasn’t all that happy to see me. He glanced at the New York plate in the back of my SUV. Obviously, what he saw did nothing to lift his spirits. Beneath a blue Boston Red Sox baseball cap, his white hair was cut close— military style. He looked to be about seventy, but walking toward me now, his gait belied his age. Tall, lean, and upright, he strode like a far younger man—a very disconcerted younger man. I knew he had to be Gina’s Uncle Wally. The L. L. Bean boots on his feet looked like the exact same ones I’d seen splayed on Connie’s kitchen floor the night I rented the cabin from her.

As he approached me I nodded my head, saying, “Hi there.”

He said nothing, and three strides later stopped in front of me, a little closer than I’d have liked.

“This here’s my property. Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

Somehow his pale blue eyes looked much softer than his tone. It was as if he wasn’t any happier having to confront me than I was about being caught on his land.

“I’m sorry. Let me explain,” I said, feeling like a tenderfoot alien from another world with my Izod golf shirt, nearly new jeans, and Reebok cross trainers. My fancy Volvo wedged in by his big truck didn’t help either. 

“I’m a friend of Gina’s, well . . . I know her is what I mean. I’m staying at one of Connie’s cabins. When I checked in there on Sunday evening, you might have heard me talking to Connie. You were there, inside a cabinet, fixing her kitchen sink.”

“Okay,” he said, slowly bobbing his head, now looking a tad less suspicious, “I remember.”

“Anyway, I was talking with Gina last night and told her I was thinking about buying a place up here in Mountain Step. She told me that you might consider selling this cabin . . . that I should take a drive by it.”

“Um hum,” he said, lifting his white brows as if to say go on.         

“Yeah . . . so, I wasn’t going to drive in here, but I couldn’t see much from the road. Look, I’m sorry,” I said turning the palms of my hands up now, “I did it against my better judgment. I just took a quick look around is all.”

Now nodding his head again, he turned his gaze to the cabin. He looked it over for a moment, lifted his cap off then stroked the short white bristles on top of his head.

“Never thought a lot about selling . . . but never said I wouldn’t neither.”

He then took another brief pause to think.  

“Tell you what,” he finally said, “I’d have to think on it some. But since you’re here, you wanna take a look at the inside?”

For more than one reason, there was relief in my voice when I said, “Sure, that would be great. I won’t take up a bunch of your time.”

“No problem,” he said in a much warmer tone now, as he extended his hand, “I’m Wally Elkin.”

I knew then I was going to like this man.

Wally walked me through the log-walled home, and I liked what I saw as much as I did on the outside. There were two bedrooms with a loft area above them, one bath, a country kitchen, and a good-sized living room that seemed even larger because the ceiling was vaulted. All the rooms were was furnished, too. Everything was in an Early American motif and looked to be in excellent shape. I wanted this place.  From the first moment I stepped through the doorway, I wanted it badly. But I knew I couldn’t rush a man like Wally Elkin. And that created a problem.         

I preferred not to rent before buying. I wouldn’t have minded staying at Connie’s cabin for two or three weeks, but I really didn’t want to get into
a lease situation somewhere else. During my first nights in Mountain Step, I’d spent considerable time on my laptop— checking real estate sites and trying to familiarize myself with local home values. I certainly wasn’t a real estate agent who could do property assessments, but I had learned enough to have a rough idea of what the value of Wally’s place might be. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. I knew well and good that small-town folks don’t normally make snap decisions. There would be no pushing Wally Elkin.

Before leaving
, I told Wally that Gina had invited me to Connie’s party that night. Not only did he say he’d be there, but he acted as if he was glad I was going as well. I wondered if that was a sign. Did it mean he could possibly reach a decision by the time we saw each other again?