Beyond the Pine (3 page)

Asher

When I heard the metal of my bike scraping against the pavement, skidding me in the direction of the tall, thick pine trees, I’d thought for sure this was the end of the line for me.

I lay bleeding in the ditch for what seemed like hours before I heard voices coming from within the forest. They seemed so far away for a moment, I’d almost thought I’d dreamt them.

However, as I lay across the pavement, the blood trickling into my beard, they grow louder, the face of a young boy leaning over me in terror pulling me back to reality.

“Papa! Papa!” he calls, the volume of his voice sending chills into my spine, making me cringe in pain.

In the next moment, he vanishes, making me wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. Reality wavers once more as spots of darkness and light fill my vision, the burning sensation over my skin sending me into a panic I can’t communicate in my current state.

Stupid fucking tree in the middle of the road.

“Papa! Come quick!” the voice calls out again, pulling me back slightly. “He’s hurt real bad!”

“I think he’s dead,” another young voice says from beyond my vision, lightly nudging my leg with his boot and making me groan.

“I’m not dead,” I manage, my voice gargled, strangling on the metallic taste of blood lodged into my throat.

“He’s still alive,” an older, clean shaven man says over me, looking down from beneath his large hat, shading us both. “Probably wishes he was dead, though.”

You got that right.

“Let’s lift ‘em,” he continues, cutting off my thoughts. “Th’ Reverend wouldn’t want us leavin’ him in th’ middle of th’ road. We can help him back at the infirmary...”

They continue speaking, but their voices fade away with their faces, feeding me nothing more than flickers of light.

I feel my body being lifted carefully, but in my weakened state, I can’t tell if it’s a physical or spiritual process.

Shards of light pulse into my mind, the occasional glimpse of the sun, pine trees and foreign faces crashing through.

They release me, gently lying me into soft grass and calling out to someone, something... I can’t tell.

Nothing sticks. Somehow, my body knows it’s shutting down, my mind picking up that this is the end of the road, my final ride.

I’m slipping into nothingness, the soft sound of singing filling my mind before slipping away right with it.

My eyes flutter open, prepared to meet their Maker, but instead, I’m met with a river of long, dark hair, the color of ravens, framing ivory skin. Her dark eyebrows quirk over almond shaped eyes, green as the pine.

In this moment, I’m sure I’ve died.

“You an angel, sugar?” I manage, the garbled words making her smile sweetly down at me, her dark hair falling over one shoulder.

“No, sir,” she shakes her head, her eyes dancing with an odd combination of amusement and concern. “My name is Sister Riley,” she continues, her soft voice lulling me to sleep. “And I’m here to help you.”

***

As my eyes flicker open, the only thing convincing me I’d not dreamed the entire thing is the searing pain biting into me from every angle.

My flesh feels like it’s on fire, about to ignite at any moment, the cinder beneath the surface smoldering. The small room I’m in is damp and cold from the changing weather outside, but all things considered, I’m comfortable.

Well, as comfortable as I can be in my current state.

My vision is blurry, but the low sound of hushed whispers fills my ears. Struggling to see clearly, the vision of the dark haired girl from the forest returns to me, sending an indescribable jolt through my chest.

Her long hair falls over her shoulders, just like it did before. Her thick black lashes rest against rosy cheeks, pale skin as her pink lips move quickly. My eyes travel to her hands, finding a thick, dark Bible in them, her fingertips lightly brushing the cover in concentration. As I return my attention to her face, her eyes flutter open, her lips quirking up on each side causing my breath to stagger.

She’s beautiful.

“If you’re reading me my last rites, you don’t have to,” I manage, my voice coming out mangled and worn with pain. “I don’t think I’m dead, at least not yet anyway.”

“You’re awake,” she smiles, the way her eyes dance in mischievous joy making me wonder what secrets she’s keeping. “And I wasn’t reading your last rites, just a prayer for your well-being, Mister...?”

“Reed,” I husk, watching her move to lift a small pitcher from a side table, filling a cup and returning to bring it to my lips. “My name’s Asher Reed.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Asher Reed,” she smiles warmly, replacing the cup to the side and sitting quietly at my side. “My name is Riley.”

“I remember,” I admit, releasing a low breath as I study her features.

“I’m surprised,” she says, her eyebrows quirking up. “You came to us pretty banged up. You had us all very worried.”

Looking around, I can see my surroundings more clearly and take in the clean, but very dated room.

The small cot I’m resting on sits in the center surrounded by makeshift dividers framed in oak, covered in linen. Although I can’t move, the draft and low light peeking in from behind me tells me there’s a small window nearby. Returning my eyes to her, I get a better look at her clothing, the blue dress she’s wearing beneath the clean, white apron reminding me of a movie I saw once.

“Where am I?” I ask in a raspy voice. “What is this place?”

“We call it the farm,” she starts, giving me a small smile as she takes in our surroundings. “We’re a small community, built on the foundation of family and faith. A few of our members were in the woods, heard your crash and found you,” she continues, returning her eyes to mine. “Our resources are limited, but we brought you back here to our infirmary, hoping to help you heal.”

“You should have just left me,” I groan, the sight of her eyebrows quirking together doing something to me I’ve never experienced.

“Why on earth would you say such a thing?”

“Because,” I start, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m the last person who should be among the faithful.”

“‘But the Scripture declares that the whole world is a prisoner of sin, so that what was promised, being given through faith in Jesus Christ, might be given to those who believe,’” she recites, her eyes kind. “That’s from Galatians 3:22.”

“‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you,’” I reply, my lips quirking up slightly at her confusion. “That’s Kurt Cobain. I take it you’re not a fan.”

“You sustained very serious injury. Had they not found you, you’d likely have perished out there,” she says in a somewhat defensive tone, shaking her head. “You’re extremely lucky to be alive, Asher.”

“I suppose we’ll see,” I counter, though my tone holds no malice.

I’m about to continue when a pretty blonde girl wearing clothes similar to Riley’s walks in.

“Hello,” she smiles, taking me in. “My name is Sara and I’m one of the nurses here. How are you feeling?”

“Like death,” I admit, clearing my throat. “Is there a bathroom in here?”

“There is, sir, but you’re in no condition to walk that far,” she says, turning slightly to grab a small bed pan and place it in front of me, apology staining her face. “For now, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put. Do you need help?”

“I should be getting back,” Riley interjects, leaning in to hug my nurse before facing me. “I’ll be in this evening to check on you, Asher, but I’m leaving you in very capable hands,” she continues, smiling warmly at Sara. “Be blessed.”

“And you,” Sara replies.

She returns her attention to me, speaking quietly, but her soft words are lost on me as I watch Riley make her exit.

“Did you hear me, sir?” she asks after a moment, but I’m forced to shake my head.

“No,” I admit, her eyes following where mine remain resting on the small door leading out of the building. “No, I didn’t.”

The entire room could come crashing down on top of me right now and I’d never know it.

Riley

Over the course of the next week, I complete my duties, stopping in each night to visit Josiah. While I’m there, I’m sure to peek in on our mysterious visitor, Asher, as well.

After that first meeting, he doesn’t say much about where he came from, instead opting to keep our talks on less personal things. I found that our time together, however awkward it might have been at the start, was quickly becoming the highlight of each day.

I begin each visit reading him a passage from the leather Bible my mother left behind, its cover worn with use despite the delicate care it’s been given. When I’m finished, I’m pleasantly surprised when we slip into easy conversation each night. We keep our talks simple, light. As the first few days come and go, I’m not surprised to find I don’t know much about him. He seems hesitant to reveal much about his past, but eager to learn much about me and the farm. I want to ask him questions, find out more about the enigma that this mysterious, damaged man is. However, I find he’s not as open a book as I’d like.

That fact should tell me to steer clear, but instead, it intrigues me that much more.

He’s healing well, which is a blessing. The color slowly begins to return to his face as each day passes, bringing with it a little more of what I’m finding to be an intriguing personality unlike any I’d ever encountered.

On the fifth day, I make my way into the infirmary a little later than usual. Peeking in, I’m surprised to find him sitting up, shirtless as he faces the window.

My cheeks heat as I take in the ridges of his back and shoulders. The sight of him stretching as he pulls a clean, white shirt over his head is breathtaking, unlike anything else I’ve ever seen.

His flesh is still riddled with injury, bandages continue to cover the bulk of his chest. However, peeking through the bruises covering his back are intricate designs, the bright ink splaying over his skin. I almost immediately become enraptured, finding each painted line to be a thing of beauty, highlighting his already impressive form.

Feeling my eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder, a strand of his long, wavy light brown hair, the ends kissed from the sun as it comes loose from the low bun it’s been pulled into. It falls against his skin, framing his bronzed face and uncharacteristically sparking my jealousy. His beard shifts slightly, the only sign of my having been caught as his lips quirk up in amusement.

“Sister,” he nods, his eyes dancing wickedly as he greets me.

“Hello Asher,” I nod, willing my sinful thoughts away as I shake my head clear. “I’ve come to offer you friendship and prayer,” I croak out, taking a step inside as he twists on the cot, facing me. “And to see how you’re feeling.”

“Friendship, huh?” he asks, his eyes rake over me as I stand in his doorway, slowly taking me in. “Are we friends now?”

“I’d like to think so,” I nod, giving him the best smile I can manage. “Would you like to pray with me?”

He mumbles something to himself, the words I can’t hear making him grin, revealing the first traces of a genuine smile I’d rarely seen from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I admit, pulling a devious chuckle from his broad chest.

“That’s probably a good thing,” he sighs, replacing himself to the cot and leaning against the wall behind him. “Sure, let’s pray.”

“Wonderful,” I grin, unable to stop it as he smiles back at me.

I open my Bible, feeling his eyes trace my skin as I take a seat and move toward the section I’d chosen on my walk over from the chapel. As I begin to read, the words resonating in me, he remains silent. So much, in fact, that I glance up to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. When I find him concentrating on me, I continue, making my way through the verses I hope will help him to find his healing inner light. I’m halfway down the page when he cuts me off.

“So, what exactly is it that you do here, Riley?” he asks, his deep, baritone voice breaking through my soft words.

Looking up from the words, I meet his eyes, finding small flecks of green there for the first time.

“I’m assigned to the chapel,” I explain.

“You’re
assigned?”
he asks. “What does that mean? That’s not your choice?”

“I didn’t choose,” I admit, gently closing my Bible and facing him fully. “When we turn eighteen, the Reverend assigns us the tasks and responsibility that he believes our light will best serve the farm, the community and our faith,” I explain, the intensity of his gaze making my breathing falter slightly. “I always thought I’d be assigned here, in the infirmary,” I continue. “However, the Reverend said my calling was to work with him in the chapel, so that’s where I spend most of my days.”

“Why’d you think you’d be in here?”

“My mother was the head caretaker here before she passed, so I spent a lot of time here with her as a girl,” I explain, watching him nod his understanding. “I learned quite a bit from her. That’s why when they found you, they called for me. The east end of the farm is much too far for you to have traveled with no medical attention.”

“Then I guess it was fate that you were there,” he says quietly, holding my eyes.

“It certainly seems as though it was part of the Lord’s plan,” I agree. “What can you tell me about your home? I’d love to know more about where you came from?”

His eyes stay locked on mine as he seems to think about his response. After a moment, his eyebrows scrunch together as he shakes his head and clears his throat.

“I don’t really stay in one place too long,” he admits, his deep, gravelly voice pulling at something within me. “I’m a bit of a gypsy in that way.”

“Hmm,” I consider, slightly tilting my head to the side as I consider that.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, choosing my words carefully. “That just must be lonely.”

“It can be,” he admits, his eyes trailing over me for a moment before giving me a small smile. “I do okay, though.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he smirks, finding amusement in something I can’t identify before his low voice returns. “I just mean some men are better on their own,” he shrugs. “I’ve proven to be one of them.”

I give him a small nod before returning my attention to the Bible I’m still holding, eager to finish. As my lips recite the final words of the passage, though, I’m surprised to find myself feeling sad that our time has come to an end again.

Closing the book in front of me, I shake the feeling and move to stand, holding his gaze, still stuck on me.

“I should be going,” I start, watching him nod. “Tomorrow is Saturday and I’ve got a full day ahead, preparing for Sunday’s sermon.”

“Okay,” he says low, looking up at me. “Thank you for stopping by, Riley.”

“Of course,” I smile, turning to make my way toward the opening in the dividers that separate him from the rest of the patients.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, making my cheeks heat, my lips quirk up on either side.

“I’d be happy to come by,” I nod, looking back over my shoulder. “It might be late, after supper. I have counsel with the Reverend. Would that be alright?”

“Of course,” he says low, something in the way his eyes dance over my body tugging at me. “Have a good night.”

“Be blessed, Asher,” I smile, letting myself out.

After a word with Sara, I quickly make my way home, eager to soak my aching muscles. I begin my nightly ritual, slipping into the warm bath with a small groan of pleasure at the way the water soothes me.

I wasn’t lying when I said I had a full day tomorrow at the chapel. In addition to preparing for the weekly sermon and my usual duties, the Reverend had informed me before I left today that he’d need to counsel me tomorrow evening.

He hadn’t mentioned what it was about and I’d found that this missing piece of information did nothing to calm my nerves. If anything, it’s left me feeling even more anxious.

I lean my head against the edge of the basin, letting my eyes slowly drift shut. When light brown hair and blue eyes with flecks of green fill my mind, I know I should snap them back open, but something inside me forbids it. Instead, I allow myself to become enraptured by the vision, seeing hard planes of flesh, decorated with ink.

That same tugging feeling I’d felt earlier when he gazed upon me returns, this time lower. With that, I force him from my mind.

I’m not sure what this man is doing to me, but it has to stop, this I know for certain.

Moving slightly in the water, I’m surprised when I find it cold, my skin shivering with the loss of heat as I stand to drain the basin. Slipping into my threadbare nightshirt, I skip my tea and fall against the pillows, beckoning to me from my bedroom.

I try to focus on the day ahead of me, settle my mind for whatever the Reverend might have in store for me tomorrow at counsel.

As my eyes flutter shut though, Asher is all I see.

I know it’s wrong, sinful to think of him like this, but try as I might, I can’t stop it. What’s more is this time, I don’t try.

This time, I don’t fight it.

Instead, I let it consume me.