Stony River (58 page)

“Is anything wrong?”

He appeared to hesitate. “It’s my father. He’s out of money, and having a hard time of it. I’m—looking into a few possibilities to help him out.”

“Oh, Joel, I’m sorry.” She was distressed for him, thinking perhaps he’d had to seek an advance from a client or maybe a loan from a bank. Briefly she thought of the unfairness of it, that he should have to help out a father who had never done anything for him. But she could not dwell on that now. All her thoughts were tumbling over each other without any order. She wished for a better place to talk. For the first time she remembered Willy. “Joel, this is Willy Calihan,” she said turning, flustered, to correct her oversight.

Willy, in his sport jacket and scented aftershave, rose to shake the outdoorsman’s hard hand politely but with no enthusiasm.

“Heard you are some painter.” Joel regarded him in passing.

Willy shrugged and said nothing.

Joel told Sevana, “I’ve got to get on the road. It’s going to be late enough as it is, getting home.”

Her heart fell. “Can’t you spare just a minute?” she pleaded.

“I can spare a minute,” he conceded, if reluctantly. He pulled out the extra chair and they all sat down together.

“Are you still planning to come over as you wrote in your letter?” she asked.

“Yes—I’ll see you when I come back, fill you in on everything.”

She could tell he didn’t want to talk there. She could wait until they were alone to hear what he had to say. “How is Fenn? Have you seen him?” she asked quickly.

“Saw him last week—walked up the hill with him from where we both were parked.” His mouth turned down wryly. “Asked him how his winter was going, and he swore at me. Said we were both crazy to live on that godforsaken mountain. I don’t know but that it isn’t going hard for him this winter.”

Sevana felt a helplessness that she couldn’t better know how he was doing. “If you see him, tell him I miss him.”

“I’ll do that.” He was not at ease. There was an undercurrent in him, things he wasn’t speaking. “I should be going.” He glanced again at Willy, then back to her. “I’ll be back to see you—soon.” He stood and pushed the chair in. He had not smiled except at their first greeting, she realized, and his eyes—which had always fascinated her with their lighted depths—did not shine at all tonight, but were only dark.

She felt a desperation as he walked away. More than anything, she wanted to ride back with him and spend the next six hours in his coveted company…see the ebony forests of the river canyon climbing against the stars…surprise Fenn by knocking at his door. The thought of his truck waiting outside with room enough for her, was almost more than she could bear.

It was strange—she had wanted to go back to Stony River so often without being able to, it almost seemed that an actual barrier existed between Lethbridge and Cragmont, blocking her from it. But in reality it was an open road, one Joel would travel that very night, and so easily it could take her back, too. When he turned and looked at her again for the briefest glance before he went out the door, it was all she could do to keep from running to ask if she could go with him. The held-back question burned her throat and the heat of its intensity warmed her face, as she stood wondering what would happen to the world if everybody did exactly as their heart begged them to.

Wordlessly she looked back to Willy and tried to hide away her feelings, for they were nothing she wanted to share.

“So that was your shepherd, was it?” asked Willy.

“Yes.”

“Your very good friend?” His eyes probed her unnervingly.

She flushed. “Yes…but only a friend.”

“He didn’t act like it,” Willy volunteered. “Come to think of it, neither did you.”

Their dinner came, but Sevana was too preoccupied to notice what she ate, and Willy was more interested in drinking than eating—leaving behind an impressive number of empty glasses when they left.

It wasn’t until later when Sevana lay sleeplessly in bed, that she began to think clearly about Joel’s presence in Lethbridge. He hadn’t left the Roadhouse until after eight o’clock. He wouldn’t arrive at the bottom of the road until the wee hours of the morning, and then he would still have a hike up the hill in the dark to a freezing-cold cabin. Nothing about it seemed right. More perplexed than ever, she wondered why he hadn’t just stayed in Lethbridge and gotten an early start in the morning. Nor could she escape a conviction that he was keeping something from her, and she wished very much to know the things he’d left unsaid.

CHAPTER 40

Sevana was partially correct in her estimation. It was three in the morning when Joel stumbled across the threshold of his cabin. But it wasn’t freezing cold. A fire was going in the stove, the yellow flames blinking through the grate, and Chantal, who had shown exceptional diligence in coaxing it to life, sat by it. “I turned around halfway home,” she explained with perfect composure. “I couldn’t leave you to face this alone, Joel. I want to help if I can.”

In the upheaval that his life had become, it was welcome to have someone to come home to. Someone to share his turmoil. The memory of Sevana in her sable-black dress and pearls with that high-fashion painter friend of hers, had robbed him of his fledgling hope. He had been imagining her as he’d known her, but of course she had gone on with her life. And someone like Sevana would not be alone for long in the real world.

Yes, the real world. Funny how even though he knew better, he had kept the image of her living down the hill in this far-off valley where nothing ever moved forward. But out in society, life moved ahead, went places. And Sevana had gone with it, away from him.

And how perfectly suited she was for that life! It was everything she wanted. Even if she was free, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to leave what she had found there, to come back to this static place, this lonely, standing-still mountain.

And Chantal was here, she wanted him, she had been his entire obsession for years. And in his tiredness and emotional upheaval, he told himself ideals be confounded, she had already left the Mountie so he wouldn’t be blamed for tearing the two apart, and told her in a rush that if she would wait for him to come back, he would marry her. And she said she would wait—would wait her entire life for the chance to be with him. It was one of those rare, earth-shaking moments when something consequential occurs, something pivotal is decided that changes the course of a lifetime.

He took out the ring he’d bought for her and hadn’t had the heart to sell, and she put it on, overwhelmed with emotion. To think, he had saved it for her all those years. It seemed so right. It marked the end to five years of unhappiness—and the continuation of something that should never have been interrupted all those years ago.

But there was little time to savor the fact or plan the future, there was so much to do. The windows had to be boarded up, the valuable tools and violins hidden in the attic, the foodstuffs sealed and stored. They moved in an air of unreality, Chantal holding the light while he bolted the snow-shutters, both of them a bit giddy in the status of their new relationship—after all this time, the denial and the questions, the debate back and forth, to say they were engaged.

In snatches they discussed it. Chantal had a big house on the Bay with a view of the mountains she was sure Joel would love; but she would give it up, along with her career, to come and freelance on his homestead. She would only live in Vancouver until he came to get her, to start their new life together in that very cabin. And Joel looked meditative and said she wouldn’t necessarily have to give anything up. He told her about his longstanding job offer. She said in her wildest dreams she’d never thought she could have both—but she didn’t want him to be unhappy. He said he would take great pleasure in seeing her happy. It was something they could consider, even if he didn’t take the job right away. It would be there to fall back on, if at any time they felt their life in the wilds was lacking.

Almost at dawn, the cabin finally in readiness, too tired even to talk any more, they fell across the Hudson’s Bay blanket in their dusty clothes and slept for a few hours, Chantal in the crook of his arm. It was a consolation to have her at his side. He found her hand in the darkness and traced his finger over the ring. But as he fell into an exhausted sleep, the picture of Sevana with her hand on the pearls at her throat as she watched him walk away, her eyes dark with an unrevealed depth of feeling, was the image that filled his head.

Sevana was more absent than present at work the next day, longing for closing time when she could take a walk and be alone with her thoughts. Willy, on the other hand, astutely guessing the reason for her preoccupation and wanting the attention for himself, talked non-stop for most of the day, and just before quitting time deliberately drew her into a critique of Jillian’s most recent innovation, an eye-twisting rendition of a Model-T that had caught her eye in a car magazine. But when he saw the conversation could not hold her, he played his ultimate card—offering to drive her home to get the book she wanted. Sevana, about to slip out the door, hesitated. If she was going to paint David and Krysta a picture, she did need the book. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to run over to his house and back. She accepted the invitation.

Arriving at his house, Willy presented Sevana with an oversized photo book of the Canadian Rockies from the massive cherry-wood bookcase in the living room, and flicked on an ornate table lamp. “Here you go,” he said. “It’s in here somewhere. I’m going to mix up a little hot buttered rum. You do drink hot rum, don’t you? It’s good for you, you know.”

Sevana
didn’t
know, but she said gamely, “I’ll try a little.”

While Willy was busy in the kitchen, Sevana sat on the couch and turned the glossy pages. There were mountains in that book to her heart’s content, and rivers and trees and flowers… She was lost in them when Willy came in and set two frothy mugs on the end table. “Finding anything?” he asked, sitting close so he could see the book.

“Yes!” She looked up raptly. “Ever so many things. Now the problem is not finding a subject, but deciding between so many.”

He chuckled. “An interesting dilemma. Show me what has taken your fancy.”

She turned back to show him all the pictures she had been considering. The beauty of the scenery had filled her with fervor, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Willy, on the other hand, was more intrigued by the dancing that had come into her eyes than anything he found in the book. Then Sevana gave a little cry as she turned to a new scene of wildflowers backguarded by stormy purple peaks. “Here it is! It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

“That’s the one,” he confirmed. “Detailing that whole meadow would take some time, of course—but it’s rich in color and lively in contrast. You know,” he was still considering it with his professional eye, “I think I would exaggerate the size of the foreground flowers. I painted a picture similar to it once, and that’s what I did—came out nice.” He took the book out of her hands and closed it, setting it on the other side of him. “Don’t forget to take it with you when you go home,” he said, as if that event was still a long way in the future. Just then the doorbell chimed.

“Drat,” said Willy, getting up to answer it. Sevana heard familiar voices, and followed him into the kitchen to see Ralf and Len. Willy turned to her. “Sevana, these jokers are headed out to the Roadhouse, and they want us to come with.”

“Come on.” Ralf flashed her a grin. “Jill’s out in the car.” They were all looking at her.

“All right.” She didn’t want to disappoint everyone. And she did like being with Willy and his friends. As long as she kept away from any mystery drinks and didn’t stray from their table, surely Joel could not object.

Willy looked pleased, if surprised. “Then we’re off!” he cried gaily. “We’ll follow in the Jag.” They tailed Ralf’s low-riding car through the streets.

That evening Sevana did as she resolved, drinking nothing but a ginger-ale. She was quiet, introspective, thinking of the person she had seen in that same room only last night—caught herself checking the perimeters of the room for a lone man sitting apart from the din. She wished she knew how much time they would have together when he came back. But regardless, she would plan a special dinner just in case she had the chance to cook it for him. She pulled herself from her thoughts to smile as the others laughed at a joke which Len had told, and she had not heard.

It was a long night while her friends grew loud playing a witless game involving quarter dollars and shots of whisky. Fortunately Jillian wasn’t as much of a drinker as the others and dropped out after a while, moving her chair over by Sevana’s. But the place was too loud for any connected conversation, so they merely chatted about possible colors for Jillian’s roadster (which Sevana had yet to set sight on), and split an order of hors d’oeuvres and later a sandwich. Sevana was not entirely easy for being there; she half-expected to see Ryder appear as punishment. She should be home getting ready for Joel’s visit, or starting the Lindfords’ picture, or working on her class assignment or—oh, a dozen things, instead of sitting in this noisy, smoke-filled den. She had always fancied herself an independent person, but she wasn’t. Otherwise she would have asked Willy to drop her off on his way out here. She rubbed her hand discontentedly back and forth along the edge of the table. More backbone was what she needed.