Makin' Miracles (16 page)

He skimmed a rock out over the water. “Sometimes I go out on a photo shoot before dawn and crouch for an hour or more in a blind or behind a row of thick shrubs to catch a shot of water birds as they first fly out into the day. Or to capture with my camera the first rays of light dancing across the water of the lake.” He reached over to take Zola's hand. “You make me feel similar joys to those moments, Zola. You've brought light into my life. And beauty and grace. I thank you for that.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

With a smile, she melted into his arms then, wrapping her arms around his body and seeking his mouth with her own. It was another of those ecstatic moments—holding Zola and kissing her in the warmth of the sun—with the waterfall thundering behind them. Spencer felt himself oddly content simply to kiss and hold her, to revel in the moment—even when they were touching skin to skin, he bare-chested and dressed only in his boxers and Zola wrapped only in her thin pareu dress, with her body intimate against his.

They pulled up on their knees on the rock, so they could hold each other more tightly and move more closely together in warm intimacy. It was a heady moment.

Spencer recognized, too, when the moment of joy began to turn heated and he pulled away. Zola laughed and tried to pull him back close again, but he shook his head, sliding off the rock to start toward the pile of clothes he'd left on the bank.

He remembered, as their passion sizzled, the caution of Zola's grandfather and of how he'd warned of the natural and spontaneous warmth Zola was capable of, because of her heritage. It might have been possible to take her further today in the midst of this ecstasy, but it would have been wrong.

Spencer pulled on his jeans and slipped his now-dry T-shirt back over his head. Then he sat down to pull on his socks and boots.

Zola grinned at him from the rock. “I don't know if I want to hug you anymore now that you've put back on that old sweaty shirt.” She made a face.

“Good,” he said, smiling at her. “I need protection from the spell you've been winding around me, island girl.”

“Was I?” She looked pleased.

“Very much so.”

Zola climbed down off the rock to look for her own pile of clothes. Finding her shorts, she turned her back to slip them on under her pareu. Then she slipped on her tennis shoes.

He smiled at her. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“What about the next day?”

“I'm off then.” She smiled back at him.

“Then we'll go somewhere special that day if you're free.”

“I can be free.” She cocked her head at him teasingly.

He laughed. “Then I'll pick you up after breakfast and take you up to one of the balds with me on the top of the mountain. I want to get some photos there, and you'll like the views. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

Spencer turned to start up the mountain, not trusting himself to spend more time with Zola while she was in this mood.

“You're much lighter, Spencer,” she called.

He turned back at that remark, giving her a questioning look.

“Surely you can feel it.” She gestured around her head, drawing a circle with her hand. “There's not so much heaviness hanging around you anymore. Don't you feel the change?”

Spencer felt reluctant to admit it, but he realized it was true.

“This has been a good day, Zola,” he said instead.

She smiled at him. “Yes, it has.”

As Spencer hiked the rest of the way up to Raven's Den, he wondered if the games he'd played with Zola had really helped him remove some of the sorrows of the past he'd carried for so long. Just now, in the haze from being with Zola in so much intimacy, he wasn't sure if he felt lighter from the rush of feelings of being with her or lighter from being freed from some of his darkness. Perhaps he would be able to tell more tomorrow. For now, though, he could definitely say, once again, that it had been a fine day. He knew for a certainty, also, that he'd dream tonight of the water nymph he'd seen rising out of the pool below the waterfall. Despite the artistry of the moment, the man watching the scene hadn't been blind.

Z
ola walked down the mountain realizing that she and Spencer Jackson had turned a corner in their relationship. He'd opened up with her at last, shared some of the pain of his past. And he'd shared some of the feelings he had about her.

Oh, he hadn't said he loved her yet. But, perhaps, it wasn't time for that. She wasn't sure if she felt ready to say those words herself. Still, the words had lurked unspoken under the surface for both of them.

Turning the corner from the trail toward her house, Zola saw a familiar figure sitting on the front porch. It shouldn't have surprised Zola to see Nana Etta sitting on the porch waiting for her, and yet it did.

As Zola drew near the porch she saw that her grandmother was crocheting a colorful pot holder while she waited. Always busy hands, her grandmother.

“I have a serious man in my life.” Zola told her, coming up on the porch.

“Yes, I saw that. That's why I walked over.”

Zola leaned over to kiss her grandmother.

“Not many people know you carry a gift of the sight, Nana.”

“Only a little now and again for practical purposes.” She looked at Zola's wet pareu. “You been swimming naked with that man?”

“No.” She opened the front door and reached in to get the shirt she'd left hanging over the chair by the door. Her back to her grandmother, she slipped off the damp pareu and pulled on the T-shirt over her shorts.

“He'd been on a photo shoot and came back up the trail to find me at the falls.” Zola spread the wet pareu over a chair in the sun to dry out. “Nothing happened but some heart confessions and some of what your friend, Judy, calls ‘a little sweethearting. ' ”

“Hmmmph,” Nana said.

Zola sat down in the big rocker on the front porch and started to rock. She wished she could simply savor her thoughts of the day right now instead of facing a cross-examination with her grandmother.

Nana picked up the pot holder to work on it again. “I've seen the boy's a Christian but his walk with God isn't as close as yours.”

“Whose is, Nana?” Zola knew she sounded querulous.

“Well, there's a point in that,” her grandmother admitted. “You did deliverance on that boy today.” She gave Zola a pointed look. “You reckon he understood it?”

“No.” She smiled. “But I know he is lighter now. I saw some of his past hurts and pains lift off.”

“How'd you do that without him resisting?”

Zola grinned. “Played a little game with him like my mother used to play with me. We gave things up to the sun and the sky. I sort of slipped in the principal part of it—and to the Lord—as we went along. After all, Nana, God is in everything. He's in the sun and the sky.”

“I suppose, but it's borderline heathenish and you know it.” The older woman glowered at her. “However, I know the Lord wants that boy to get free from some of that past hanging over him.”

“Have you been given anything specific about that, Nana?” Zola looked at her questioningly.

“A bit. Not much.” She picked at her crochet work. “He experienced a lot of painful things in his early life. It could take time to get past it all. And it might shoot up to haunt the both of you now and then as you go along. You up for that?”

“If he can take on my peculiarities, I guess I can take on his.” She giggled. “He has the hardest time with the little things I see sometimes.”

She told her grandmother about seeing the yellow jackets and telling him where the poison to kill them sat under the kitchen sink.

Nana chuckled. “I can remember some tales of my own when you saw things of that nature when only a mite—after you first came to live with us. It took a bit of getting used to.”

“You see things, too, Nana.”

She shook her head. “Not in the same way, girl, and it's seldom I can recall ever being asked by the good Lord to share them with others. I simply get some knowings now and again.”

“Are you troubled about my relationship with Spencer?”

“Some,” she admitted. “But Vern and I like him. We neither one have an objection to you taking up with him—unless he gives us a reason to change our minds.”

Zola sighed. It relieved her to know her grandparents thought well of Spencer. If they hadn't, it would have worried her.

Nana pinned her with a disapproving frown. “Right now, I'm more concerned over this business with Aldo Toomey and Madame Renee, and with all the rumors I've been hearing about Ben Lee saying you're going to solve the mystery of his missing daughter.” She shook a finger at Zola. “I don't like you being involved in danger.”

“Oh, Nana, you know Aldo Toomey is basically harmless.”

“Yes. But Renee Dupres walks on the dark side. I don't like her mind and words dwelling on you, Zola. She draws ill with her talk and with her words.”

“I'll start praying more over that, Nana.”

“And so you should. Never underestimate the enemy, Zola.” She turned serious eyes toward her. “Keep your armor on strong. And keep your prayer life up.”

Zola nodded.

Her grandmother stood up. “You go have yourself a little talk with Benwen Lee, too. You set him straight on a few things. With some prayer, you'll know how to talk to him. This blabbering of his needs to stop, Zola. It's not helping the understanding of what you are.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Zola knew her grandmother was right. She'd let the gossip Ben generated go on too long already.

Firm eyes caught hers. “I'll be expecting to hear tomorrow of exactly how that conversation went with him.”

This was the way her grandmother always dealt with her, laying out a clear expectation so Zola wouldn't procrastinate on the things she ought to do. Her grandmother knew she sometimes avoided dealing with difficult issues, hoping they would resolve themselves without her having to take action.

She sighed. “Should I go talk to Renee, too?”

Nana snorted. “There's nothing in her that would want to listen to you, even if you used all the reasoning in the world. What you can do for her is simply pray for her to have enlightenment. To walk out of the dark and into the light. Then she might be able to hear some truth and know it. For now, you just keep your distance from her.”

Zola knew the truth in her words. Every conversation she'd ever engaged in with Renee had been fruitless.

“You want me to drive you home?” Zola asked.

“No.” She snapped out the word with annoyance as she started down the porch steps. “The day I need to be driven, instead of walking a short distance over my own farmland, I'll let you know.”

Zola hid a smile behind her hand.

Nana paused to tuck her crochet work into her apron pocket. “Why don't you come over to dinner with us tonight if you're through with your daydreaming by then? I'm having chicken-and-dumplings and I made a blackberry cobbler from those berries I put up last summer.”

“I'll do that.” Zola waved at her.

She looked back at Zola with a frown. “And you put yourself some underwear on under those clothes. It's not decent to go around without underclothes on.”

Zola rolled her eyes again as her grandmother started down the path toward her place.

As it turned out, Zola did find a little time to dream that afternoon before she went to dinner with her grandparents. She did a little more dreaming at work the next day, sandwiched between waiting on customers. It was nice to be on the edge of falling in love, she thought, nice to have someone to dream about and think about, sweet to feel someone invading her thoughts.

Spencer had called last night, and as she settled in to bed after a long day, he called again. “I'm calling at ten o'clock again,” he said, “because I've learned it's about the time you go to bed.”

“Is that right?” she asked, smiling.

“Yeah. I like talking to you right before you go to sleep.” His voice sounded husky. “I think ten is going to start being my special time to call you every night.”

She yawned. “Maybe you can tell me bedtime stories or sing me some lullabies.”

“And maybe I can whisper sweet nothings to you.” His voice grew softer.

Zola snuggled into her pillow. “I might like that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, but then I might have trouble falling asleep afterward. Perhaps I should talk about less personal things, like telling you those yellow jackets are totally gone. You know, I appreciate you keeping Zeke from getting his doggy nose stung that evening.”

“Zeke's a great dog. When did you get him?”

Their conversation went on like this, becoming more and more relaxed and comfortable. Zola was remembering these warm moments as she followed Spencer along a single-file trail the next morning to one of the gassy meadows on top of the Smoky Mountains.

He wore his photographer's vest, with a camera draped around his neck. He also wore a backpack, which carried water and part of their lunch, and he carried his tripod over his shoulder. Zola admired his broad shoulders from the back.

She had a small backpack on, too, with the rest of their lunch inside it. Under her arm, she carried an old quilt rolled up with string.

“I thought for sure when you talked about going to a grassy bald we'd hike to Andrews Bald or Gregory Bald.”

“Everyone goes there,” he said. He turned to grin at her over his shoulder. “Besides, have you ever hiked down to Andrews Bald?”

They'd parked in the parking lot at the end of Clingmans Dome Road at the top of the mountain, and Zola knew the trail to the bald sloped south from the parking lot down Forney Ridge.

She searched her remembrance. “It seems I remember there are some nice views from off Andrews Bald.”

“Yeah, and that's all.” He laughed. “The trail down to the bald is boring to me and sometimes the open field on the bald is full of gnats and bugs so thick you could choke. The grass on the bald grows really high, too. It's a disappointing place to me. I know other trails that lead to grassy meadows and fine mountain views I like much better.”

“And so where does this trail lead?” They'd headed northwest out of the parking lot and climbed up a rocky ridge to intersect a piece of the Appalachian Trail heading out from Clingmans Dome.

Spencer led the way farther along the narrow ridgetop trail. He pointed ahead. “This trail leads to Mount Buckley. You can see it up ahead. It's only a short walk to it now.”

The trail opened out on the left to expose a grassy meadow on the top of the mountain slope. The views over the mountaintops here were stunning. Zola paused to take it in.

Spencer turned back to her with a smile. “After we walk to the point at Mount Buckley, where I want to take some photos, we'll come back here, spread out our quilt and enjoy our picnic. You can look your fill then, Zola. This is a great place.”

“Yes, it is.” She looked behind her. “And not far from the parking lot. I wonder why more people don't walk out here to enjoy the views.”

It was a weekday, and there weren't many tourists in the area, but none had taken this trail. They'd all headed up the paved trail leading to the Clingmans Dome Tower or started down Forney Ridge Trail to the bald.

“People are lemmings.” Spencer adjusted the tripod on his other shoulder. “They go to the places where they see other people go or that they've heard other people talk about the most.”

Zola smiled to herself. It was good to hear Spencer acknowledge that he liked to walk to a different drummer.

The trail began to climb more steeply toward the top of Mount Buckley.

“How tall is Mount Buckley?” she asked.

“It's 6,580 feet, Zola. We're high up in the heavens today. Mount Buckley is the fourth tallest mountaintop in the Smokies. Clingmans Dome behind us is the tallest at 6,643 feet. You can see 100 miles from the tower on a clear day.”

“It looks clear today—and not foggy like it is sometimes.” Zola gazed out over the rippling mountain ranges with pleasure. “Did you know it would be this nice today?”

“I've been watching the weather.” He admitted this honestly. “I wanted to come on a day when I could get some good mountain range photos. They always sell well in the store.”

“Everybody loves pictures of the rolling mountains with the hazy colors growing fainter and fainter in the distance.” She sighed, looking out at the view.

“Well, I'll give you a picture to frame if you can find a place to put it in your house.”

“I'll find a place,” she told him. “You just plan on getting some good shots.”

He laughed. “I intend to.”

The summit of Mount Buckley was a rocky point with trees on the top. Rocky outcrops and grassy patches spread to either side of the point. Zola sat down on a rock to rest and enjoy the views while Spencer took photos.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the peace and quiet of the day. She could hear a woodpecker ratcheting away on a tree down in the valley. The sounds of insects droned softly on the air. She heard the high-pitched notes of a warbler singing—probably having just returned to the upper reaches of the mountains now that late April had arrived. In the quiet, she heard the flutelike sound of a veery, too. This bird usually serenaded only during the early morning and at sunset.

“You're late in the morning to be singing, little friend, but I'm glad you are so I could hear you.” Zola's grandmother had taught her to know most all the bird songs when she was small. Those things one learns as a child stay strong in the remembrance.

“What are you smiling about?” Spencer asked, coming over to drop a kiss on her forehead.