THE TIME STAR (7 page)

She didn’t want to let time, or the
length of it before they'd meet again, ruin what they’d started. "Let's
meet here at your cabin on the long weekend. We'll talk for a while and maybe
go out for lunch. There's an inn in the village that will be open by then."

Thomas' gaze lingered on her. A slow
smile came over his handsome features. Waneeta held her breath.

"Very well, then," he said.
Just when she thought he might kiss her, he broke their embrace. "We'll
find that inn you're talking about, and have lunch. In the meantime, show me
this 'Skidoo' of yours."

Chapter 7

"Good Lord," he blurted out a
few minutes later, standing over the beaten up machine as Waneeta swept the
snow off.

"I know! Ugly, eh? Kevin and Uncle
Rob bought it years ago at a Crown Assets Auction. It belonged to the military.
Kevin drives the newer one he’d just bought."

"Looks like a locomotive!" Thomas
eyed it suspiciously, unsure if she should touch it at all. Made of white
painted iron, sitting on a tread of black rubber, with two skis in front, this
was a 'Skidoo'? Waneeta seemed confident she could handle it, but it listed
badly to one side, and she would need help righting it. He quickly shed his
snowshoes for the task. Dubiously, Thomas grasped it and finding it heavier
than it looked, heaved it to set it right.

He scanned the area. "Is this where
you saw the meteorite?"

Waneeta looked around and pointed to a
tree. "It was up there. It flew over that way." She turned and
indicated east to west.

"How far away did it land?"

"Not too far. Less than quarter of
a mile. I think a chunk fell not far from here and the rest a ways further on.
Though I couldn't find it when I dropped it, so we may not find it now."

Thomas stared over the horizon line. It
was hard to believe it came so close to her when none of the trees showed any
scorching. But her 'Skidoo' must have, if her strange suit did. They'd need to
brush off the snow first.

Meanwhile, Waneeta scooped up a shiny
black helmet half hidden in the snow, and then walked toward Thomas. "What's
the matter? I know it's old, but it runs well. It'll need some cranking, I
imagine. I just hope the gas hasn't all drained out, but I don't smell
anything."

He couldn't imagine such a small
locomotive, but there it was. Did it run on a boiler? Or was it one of those
internal combustion engines he'd heard of? He wasn't an engineer, so he refused
to speculate. But still, he cringed inwardly. No doubt it would sound like the
devil himself when it finally started to work.

He watched Waneeta don the helmet, a
hard metal bowl like nothing he'd seen before. Out of her pocket, she then drew
a set of tiny keys and dangled them in front of him.

"Help me turn it around, first,
please. I know the ski is bent, but I should be able to drive it into the
village."

He helped her, and then backed off to
stand near the uprooted tree that had hindered her progress two nights ago.

"It'll be fine. Don't worry."
She smiled encouragingly at him, but he continued to stare oddly at the machine.
Waneeta shoved the key into the ignition. "It always takes a bit of
cranking to get the thing going, but it does run well."

Thomas stepped back. This he had to
watch.

As she cranked the engine, Waneeta wiped
off the seat. Under most of the snow was a fine layer of dust. Meteorite dust,
which soon smeared with the snow and she briefly wondered if she should be
saving the stuff for posterity.

Then she felt it, a peculiar sensation as
it flooded over her. That same indescribable nausea she'd felt watching the
meteorite crash and burn. It was so intense that she closed her eyes, hoping it
would pass quickly.

Finally the engine caught, and Waneeta found
the vibrations easing her queasiness. Finally, as the Skidoo settled into a
quiet idle, the nausea faded away.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face
Thomas.

He was gone.

Waneeta glanced around. "Thomas?"

Leaving the idling Skidoo a moment, she
walked over to the uprooted tree close to where he'd been standing. Something
was wrong. Reaching out her hand, she touched it. It was the twisted wreck of
rotten roots, shrunken and decayed nearly beyond recognition. Just a moment
ago, it had seemed freshly uprooted and covered thickly with new snow. Thomas
was just standing here, having backed off when she was about to start the
engine.

Waneeta turned around and spied another
tree. One of the original old growth trees, it stretched up high above her,
forked right in the middle. The top of it was charred and broken. The meteorite
had grazed it on its descent.

"There, Thomas, look!" She
pointed and twisted about, but she was still alone.

Alone. In fact, Waneeta had never felt
so alone.

She shivered in the quiet. Suddenly, it
was as if she was the only creature left on earth. Fear crawled through her,
and she automatically stepped back, looking down the path that led to the
cabin. Skidoo tracks veered to the right through the trees, but the trail she
and Thomas took only minutes before was yet untouched this winter. All that
threatened the pristine snow today was a good melting from the warm day.

Warm?  It hadn’t been this warm out a
moment ago.

And that tree! With determined steps,
she plowed through the soft snow until she smacked the tree trunk and looked
up. She squinted against the bright sky as she scanned the century-old timber.

This tree was far too old...

Her skin crawled. One wicked storm had hit
yesterday, but the tracks around her were still well-trampled by snowmobiles. Two
nights ago, she couldn't find this trail because the snow was so pristine. Now
it was packed hard and crystallized from late winter thaws and freezes.

What was going on?

A shivering fear scraped the length of
her body like claws on a chalkboard. Her gaze flashed around, but the trees
were unfriendly, laughing at her as they bent in the breeze that had suddenly
whipped up. For one absurd moment, she thought they'd stolen Thomas, like evil
Wendigos stealing lonely hunters. Above her, tree tips pirouetted rhythmically,
their rustlings like heavy, hypnotic wheezing.

Nausea roiled again, this time borne of
panic. Her heart pounding, she leapt on her snowmobile and without looking back,
she raced down the trail that would take her to the village.

Chapter 8

"Need a place to stay?"

At the mechanic’s words, Waneeta jumped.
She was standing near the small door beside the big bay door. She spun. "I’ll
need a place?"

The guy shrugged. "Yeah, unless you
can find someone to come get you, but that storm that’s been forecast is still
on its way. I’ll have to get a ski delivered here, and my parts all come from
Ottawa. They'll deliver it in the morning if the weather holds." He eyed
her coolly before adding, "My sister runs the inn. It's closed till
spring, but she may put you up for the night. Want me to call her?"

She hadn’t been able to get through to
anyone in Pembroke except her work to say that she couldn’t make it in. No one
was able to come out to pick her up.

Her parents were out, so she left a
message, and Kevin was at work according to his roommate. At least he was safe,
though he hadn't appeared to show any concern for her, from what she gathered
from his roommate. Waneeta lived alone, without even her own roommate from whom
she could beg a ride. No one was up to the hour and a half long drive. Those at
work were now short-handed, thanks to her.

Vaguely, she found herself nodding at
the mechanic’s offer. "Um, what day is it today?"

"The 17th, all day. Saint Patrick's
Day, isn't it?"

The day after she'd wrecked her Skidoo?
How could that be possible? She'd spent two nights with Thomas.

Her head aching, Waneeta wandered to the
window. Stafford Village was a tiny hamlet nestled in the hills southeast of
Algonquin Park. It was solely supported in the winter by snowmobilers like
herself. In the summer, people fished the stream that crossed under the
village's only street. This place boasted the garage and gas station now
holding her snowmobile, a restaurant, general store, and an inn. A few old
houses and cottages filled the rest of the village.

Stafford Village. Thomas Stafford.

"She'll be here in a minute,"
the mechanic cut into her muse after he’d hung up the big black phone she’d
just used.

"Thanks, Mr.—"

"Derkson." He returned to his
parts manual and continued to write down out some numbers.

Waneeta swung back to the window. All
around the village the trees threatened to swallow up man's presence. She half
prayed Thomas would appear, right in this garage, to take her back. But a
deeper part of her knew he wouldn't come. How she knew it, she couldn’t explain.
It had settled in her like a lead ball.

Thomas felt like a dream now.

Waneeta gave herself a mental shake.
What nonsense! She could still feel his warm touch, his smooth lips on hers, and
her body's reaction to him when he stood close.

Yet when she and Thomas had been looking
at the tree scorched by the meteorite, it looked undamaged.

The meteorite? Waneeta spun. "Did
you hear about the meteorite?"

"The one last night?"

"So, it was only last night?"
She caught the mechanic’s frown and hurried on. "Sorry, it felt like
longer than that. Like two nights ago."

If her odd remark bothered the guy, he
didn't show it. "I expect meteorite hunters will be all over the area soon
enough, looking for the darn thing. Then we'll wish it was long ago. I don't
care as long as they take it far away. It could be radioactive. Bad enough we
have that nuclear lab over at Chalk River." The man returned to his work.
Then he looked up again. "At least Doris won't mind. I bet she'll open her
inn for them. Which wouldn't be a bad thing, I suppose."

Pensive, Waneeta just stared out the
window. From the other end of the street, a heavy woman hurried toward the
garage. Spotting Waneeta, she broke into a warm smile and waved. Waneeta lifted
her hand and return the wave, not feeling the joviality she saw in the woman's
face.

"Hello, I'm Doris Derkson,"
she said as she opened the small bay door.

Waneeta tried a smile back, but it felt
watery, even to her. "I'm Waneeta Meadows. Thanks for opening up your inn
for me."

The older woman squeezed her arm. "It's
nothing, really. Stafford Village gets fewer visitors each year whether they're
here on purpose or by accident. I’m glad for the company. Sorry to hear about
your snowmobile. You must be in shock even, running into whatever it was that
bent that ski." She shook her head. "Sorry, listen to me chatter!
Come on. We’ll get you settled. Do you think you need to see a doctor?"

"No, I'm fine." She wasn't
really. Not with a headache coming on, and the bruise on her side still aching.
She wondered if she still bore the stain of Thomas' iodine. Not that she would
check it here.

On the way to the inn, Waneeta couldn't
help but glance back at the woods from where she’d come. Again, she hoped
Thomas would rescue her.

From what? A dear old lady desperate for
company?  A broken ski, and unreachable parents?
A lonely life because you
don't trust
?

"Are you sure you're not hurt,
dear?" Doris asked as she fell into step beside Waneeta. "You look
pale."

Waneeta shook off her thoughts. "I'm
okay. I had a bad spill in the woods. It spooked me, I guess."

"Then it's best you don't drive
home today. I know I could use the company.  Besides, the Weather Network on TV
says we’re still going to get that storm. It’s moving slower than they expected,
that's all."

The inn was the biggest house in the
village with a wide, welcoming front porch. An ornate feminine sign hanging
from the verandah roof told visitors this was the 'STAFFORD VILLAGE INN'.
Together they entered, and Doris hurried behind a small desk and pulled out a
key.

"I'll give you the blue room."
She handed her a room key hanging off a bright blue tag.

As she shrugged off her snowsuit,
Waneeta asked how much it cost. Mrs. Derkson frowned at the sight of the credit
card Waneeta then produced. "I only take cash this time of year."

Waneeta's face fell. "I'm afraid I
haven't got any cash on me, Mrs. Derkson."

"Call me Doris, dear. I'll tell you
what. In exchange for a room, you can help me out this afternoon at the museum,
if you're up to it."

"Museum?"

Doris beamed, "Yes. For years I've
petitioned the County Historical Society for some money to start it. I've been collecting
memorabilia and things about the lumber industry all my life and I just got the
break I was looking for."

"What was that?"