Makin' Miracles (7 page)

Zola smiled. “I love that book you did of all the scenes of the coastal marshes. It was called
Up Close on Georgia's Barrier Islands.
”

Spencer felt pleased she knew the name of the book. “That was my first publication. I'd been showing my photography at the gallery in Savannah where Aston worked, and he had a publisher come in one day saying he wished he knew a photographer who might do some coffee-table books of natural sights around the area. Aston told him about me; he asked me to write up a proposal and send some photo samples.”

Cresting the mountaintop, Spencer started down the winding drive to his house. “The books are what really began to build my reputation as a photographer.”

“You've done several, haven't you?”

“Five, and I'm working on the sixth. The money from the books helped me buy the gallery here in Gatlinburg. But now my photography is beginning to make good money on its own, as well.”

“What is the new book you're working on?” she asked.

He considered whether to answer. He wasn't a man prone to share his personal life freely. However, glancing over to see her waiting on his answer with such a rapt face dissolved his reluctance. “I think I'm going to call this new book
Small Pleasures in the Shadow of the Mountains.
I'm trying to find the unique and unusual to put in this book—the small unexpected pleasures you come across here in the Smokies.”

“I love that idea,” she said.

“Well, here we are.” He stopped the car in his driveway. “I hope you won't feel angry to see the place I've built up here. I tried to design a home that fit into the setting. I wanted it to feel like it belonged here.”

“We'll see,” she said quietly. Spencer looked over to see her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clenched in her lap.

Spencer gave her a worried look. “You're not going to cry again, are you?”

“I don't know.” She heaved a sigh. “This is a pretty emotional thing for me.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Well, let's get it over with. Whatever you're going to feel about it, Zola, the house is here. You can't turn back time.”

“I know.” Her answer was soft.

He came around to open the car door for her. “Here, come and look. It's just a mountain house, Zola, not some pretentious mansion.”

Spencer took Zola's hand and led her around toward the front of the house. He watched her squint open her eyes.

“Ohhhh.”

Spencer waited, but that was all she said.

“Oh, what?”

She walked up the stone walk to the rustic log cabin, with its roughhewn timbers, settled naturally into the mountain setting. “It doesn't look new. It looks like it's been here for hundreds of years.” Her voice sounded slightly awed.

Spencer let out a small sigh. “It was built with logs from several old houses and barns that the builder, Cooper Garrison, found around Tennessee, Kentucky, and Georgia. That's real chinking there between the logs and he used natural rock for the chimney. Cooper made a genuine effort to create a house that was authentic. And I fought to save every tree I could around the place.”

She followed the stone walk to the broad front porch of the cabin. It looked out over the mountain ranges beyond and down to the valley below. She laid her hand gently on one of the rustic beams that held up the porch roof and then walked across the porch to stand and look out over the expansive vista. A fog lay draped over the lower mountain ranges, its wispy fingers shrouding some of the view.

Spencer followed her. He stopped to stand beside her, looking out toward the mountains beyond with her, enjoying the feel of the crisp air, savoring the panorama of overlapping mountain ranges against a blue sky.

She put a hand on his arm. “It's nice, Spencer. You've kept the feel of Raven's Den. You haven't spoiled it.”

He felt his heart sing inside him.

Zeke barked then, reminding Spencer of his presence. He opened the door, leashed the big shepherd, and then brought him out to meet Zola.

He shouldn't have worried about how Zola and the dog would hit it off. She squatted down on his level, said a few words to him in some language Spencer didn't recognize, and then held out her hand for him to sniff. Soon, Zeke was running his head under her hand and rubbing his big body against her legs. She laughed joyously, as pleased with Zeke as he seemed with her.

Spencer took her through the house then, pointing out the chinked walls inside, the hardwood floors retrieved from a hundred-year-old house being torn down, telling her about the stone taken from a mountain quarry to create the big fireplace in the main living room. He told her how his decorator, Delia Cross, decided on mossy greens, russet reds, and earth browns for the colors in the house—to enhance the cabin's natural materials and complement the outdoor vistas.

“It's homey and beautiful,” she said, running her hand over the stone fireplace in pleasure, laying her hands on the wood walls to feel the texture of the old logs.

Her appreciation for all he'd done to create a special place was so reverent and genuine that Spencer found himself bodily responding to her—getting physically excited. Strange. He began to notice Zola's lips, her scent, and to be conscious of the swell of her breasts under her shirt.

His heart beat more rapidly when she looked across at him shyly and asked to see the bedrooms. “I've only furnished one of the bedrooms upstairs for guests. The other two I'll get to in time. But the master downstairs is fully complete.” He led her down the hall to his bedroom.

It was very spacious, and she walked through, not seeming to notice the big bed, which dominated the room and Spencer's thoughts. Instead, she focused on the photographs on the wall. “Your work is everywhere.” She ran her fingers over the rough frame of one of Spencer's photographs on the wall. “And I love the natural framing you've used on them.”

“I make a lot of my own frames. I actually used wood scraps left from the builders for most of the photographs here in Raven's Den.”

She stopped to examine the photograph in front of her that showed a small, weather-beaten white house set under a large oak draped in Spanish moss. “Where was this taken?”

“It's the little house I rented on Daufuskie.” He walked over nearer to her. “It's a pretty primitive little place, but I got attached to it. I ended up buying it. I got Zeke when I moved to that house. We lived there and explored the island and marshes together for three years.”

“Did Aston live there with you?” Zola asked. She already knew Aston and Spencer lived together in a mountain chalet after they first moved to the Smokies.

Spencer laughed. “Not hardly. Aston
came
from Daufuskie. He helped me find the place on the island, helped me make contacts I needed there. But he wasn't interested in moving back. He stayed in his upscale city apartment the years I lived on Daufuskie.”

She turned soft eyes to his. “Weren't you lonely out there by yourself?”

Spencer looked back on that time, remembering how healing it had been to live on his own, to come to know himself on Daufuskie, to work on his art with all his heart. He'd come to terms with himself there on the island. “No, it was a time I needed. The solitude helped to shape me.”

“It can do that.” She nodded with understanding, not seeing his reply as odd.

He moved to stand behind her, putting his arms around her, leaning her back against him. Spencer knew his physical condition would be evident to Zola, but he wanted badly to touch her, to be close to her for a moment. He rested his chin on her head. She was shorter than he, and Spencer could tuck her head right against his neck and heart. She smelled of that light, woody, fruit scent again—like apples and a whiff of apple blossoms. He fought his hands so they wouldn't stray from her waist to the soft area under her breasts.

“Is Zola your real name?” he asked, his lips against her hair.

She laughed and pulled away from him. “It is my real name and more so, Spencer. My full name is Zolakieran Sidella Eley Devon.”

Zola started back toward the living area, leaving him to follow. “
Zola
means ‘ball of earth,'
Sidella
means ‘prophetess,' and
Eley
means ‘light.' My mother researched
Devon
once and it means ‘poet.' Quite a lot of name for one young girl, I used to think.”

Spencer tried to settle his emotions so he could think of an appropriate response.

“It's a mouthful, isn't it?” She laughed that warm laugh of hers again. “My mother's family goes back to Tahitian royalty and it was a tradition in her family to give three names plus a surname to each child. She gave my brother and I both the kinds of names expected by her people. My brother is Wayland Aidan Stephonera Devon. He is ten years my senior. My mother thought for a long time she wouldn't have any other children. But then I came.”

Out in the living room again, she knelt to scratch Zeke. He rolled onto his back to give her better access to his belly.

Spencer envied the dog her touch.

“Why don't you and Zeke walk me part way down the mountain?” She turned her dark eyes to his. “I need to go home now. I haven't been back from Mooréa long and I have a huge list of things I need to do around the house and the farm.”

He nodded and went to get Zeke's leash. Zeke had already perked up at the word “walk,” which he well recognized, and had headed eagerly toward the door, wagging his tail.

Spencer laughed in spite of himself. “You've said the
w
-word now, Zola. And I think Zeke is ready to go.”

“So am I,” she said, picking her jacket up from the back of the sofa.

They walked out the ridge trail together. Spencer began to feel better as he walked in the cool mountain air.

He showed Zola how he'd cleared the trail to make it more accessible. At the junction where the trail split, they started downhill toward the valley. The other path led up the familiar trail to Shinbone Point. Their trail switched right after a quarter mile and began to descend toward Buckner Branch.

“Stop and listen,” Zola said at one point, putting a finger to her lips. “You can hear the falls from here if you're really quiet and the wind is right.”

She was right. Spencer could hear a faint sound of rushing water on the air.

They found the falls a quarter of a mile later. Buckner Branch fell in a long spill over a rocky embankment to splash onto the rocks below before swirling into a deep pool. Beyond the pool, it tumbled over another rocky ledge in a small series of cascades before continuing down the hillside. The trail down into the valley picked up on the other side of the stream.

“I'll go the rest of the way alone,” she said, starting to step out on the broad rocks in the pool to cross the stream.

Spencer watched her, wondering what it was about this sprite of a girl that drew him so, even when he'd determined not to be further interested in her.

Stopping on a big rock in the middle of the stream, she looked back at him and flashed him a big smile. Then she motioned for him to hop out to the rock where she stood.

Spencer dropped Zeke's leash and spoke to him to sit and stay. Then with two or three strides over the rocks, he joined her. The sound of the falls and the spill of the cascades filled the atmosphere, and the air felt fresh with the scent of rushing water.

The February air was chill, and Zola's cheeks were rosy from the cold and the exertion of their hike. She put a cold hand to Spencer's cheek. “Thank you for showing me your house. It's wonderful. I don't mind it being on Raven's Den.”

Spencer felt a slow smile of pleasure start to spread across his face.

She grinned at him. “At least not too much!” She stood on her toes and kissed him then. The sensations were a glorious mix of cold and heat—cold from the crisp air and heat from the emotions stirring between them.

Spencer tangled his hands in Zola's hair, pulling her against him as they stood on the giant boulder in the stream. He took their kiss deeper than the sweet, little kiss Zola had begun, moving it into a passionate one that soon had both their hearts thudding as loud as the waterfall behind them. How did she always manage to create these photographic moments—these incredibly memorable, emotion-filled incidents? He didn't know and he didn't care. He just lost himself in her.

She pulled away from him to smile at last. “I think I'm beginning to like you a little instead of hating you.” Then she patted him on the cheek and leaped across to the next rocks in the stream and over to the opposite shore.

“See you soon!” she called, starting off down the path toward her house.

Spencer stood and watched her until she went around a bend into the woods, turning to wave a last time before she did. Then he picked his way back over the rocks the way he'd come.

Zeke wagged his tail happily to greet him. Then the dog looked longingly down the trail toward the direction in which Zola had disappeared into the trees.

“She's really something, isn't she?” Spencer picked up Zeke's leash and started back up the trail. “We're going to have to watch it around her that we don't both lose our heads.”

Z
ola didn't see Spencer for several days. She was busy settling back into her work hours at the store after her trip. Being away through most of January and February always put her behind. In addition, shipping orders had arrived from the buying she did while in the islands.

She fell asleep with exhaustion on Wednesday evening, listening to the rain falling on the metal roof of the farmhouse. A nudging of the Spirit woke her early on Thursday morning. She could see the sun coming out with brilliance in a clear blue sky when she crawled out of bed to get into her clothes.

Thirty minutes later, she'd hiked up the mountain trail to Spencer's house and was banging on the door. Zeke, already up, quit barking when he recognized Zola's voice, but it took more banging before a sleepy-headed Spencer padded out to the front door to peer out at her in surprise.

He opened the door. “What are you doing here?” He muffled a yawn behind his hand. “It's really early.”

“I know.” She pushed her way into the house, trying not to notice Spencer was dressed only in plaid boxers and a loose T-shirt. Zeke greeted her with doggy enthusiasm, obviously not concerned that she'd arrived at seven a.m.

Zola leaned over to pet the big dog's head. Scratching Zeke's ears, she could feel the woolly undercoat beneath the dense, prickly outer coat of the shepherd.

She saw Spencer suppress yet another yawn.

“Get dressed and get your photo gear, Spencer,” she said. “You have a shoot to do.”

“What?” He scowled at her. “What the heck are you talking about?”

Zola put her hands on her hips impatiently. “Look, Spencer, you need to trust me here. We have a really short window for this, and you need to get ready fast. You hear? I promise you, you'll be glad you listened to me later.”

“I don't like you one bit right now,” he grumbled. “I stayed up until two last night going through digi pictures I'd taken. It took a long time. I planned to sleep in today.”

“So did I.” She glared at him.

He rolled his eyes in resignation. “All right. All right.” He started toward the bedroom and looked back. “Do we get to eat first?'

She shook her head in the negative and heard a mumbled expletive in reply.

He came back in a few minutes, dressed and pulling on a jacket. He grabbed a hat and gloves from a tabletop and then headed toward his office and workroom to get his photography gear.

“I assume this will be outdoors?” He looked back at her in question.

“Yes. But you'll have to figure out what photographic stuff you need. I didn't get any information about supplies.”

A mumbled “Thank God for that” filtered out behind him.

Surprisingly, Spencer and Zola were out the door and on the road within ten minutes after Zola arrived.

He felt irritated she'd walked to the house. “You could have driven, Zola.” He frowned at her. “It's cold out early in the morning. Especially in late February.”

“It was faster to walk up. And time was everything.”

“Where are we going?” Spencer raised an eyebrow her way as he headed down the mountain road from his house to the parkway.

“Up Newfound Gap Road. You'll know the right place when we get there.” She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

He nudged her. “What do you mean,
I'll
know? I don't have any of that seer gift in me, Zola.”

She yawned. “You won't need it. It will be obvious.”

She slipped into a quiet sleep as the car traveled up the mountain highway, but she woke quickly when she heard Spencer's exclamation.

“Oh, my gosh. Look at that! Unbelievable!”

She opened her eyes to see the entire mountainside covered in a white hoarfrost. Every branch and tree trunk was glazed in a dazzling coat of ice and snow, all sparkling brilliantly in the morning sunshine.

“I've never seen anything like this in all my life!” Spencer slowed the SUV to a crawl to look at the natural show in front of them.

As they rounded the next corner, they could see that the glistening frost continued for miles. Here at this point, it flowed up the mountain as far as they could see and down the ridges into the deep valley below. Everywhere they looked was a white, dazzling wonderland—radiant against the blue sky, shining in the brilliant sunshine.

Spencer stopped the car at a pull-off and began to unload his camera equipment.

“How did you know?” He looked at Zola in amazement as he began to set up his tripod and pull his 35 mm SLR camera, zoom lenses, and filters out of his camera bag.

“I didn't.” She yawned again. “Evidently God is interested in your work.”

He looked at her with wonder in his eyes. ‘Well, thank Him, would you?”

“You thank Him. He'd like that better.” She walked over to a rock wall to stand closer to the edge of the glory before them. It was unbelievably beautiful.

In the mountains, it was rare for a hoarfrost of this magnitude to occur, and even rarer to be fortunate enough to see it. Once the sun popped out, the ice would begin to melt away. The splendor of a frost like this was short-lived indeed.

Zola turned back to see Spencer lost in his work now. He moved quickly around the area, snapping shots at different angles. He used the tripod, or got on his knees propping one elbow on a knee to keep the camera still. She watched him working with the viewfinder to locate the best composition, thinking carefully about which perspective he wanted to take the picture from. He played with different lenses and added filters; she assumed that was to cut off some of the glare. It was bright out.

He used a digital camera today. Zola watched him stop every now and then to look at a shot he'd taken. Other times he simply moved around, shooting without examining what each picture looked like at all. Instinct, she guessed. He probably knew intuitively what to do, how to shoot to get the results he wanted. She guessed he could simply feel when the shot was right.

Spencer looked up to see her watching him at one point. He motioned for her to come over to see the photograph he'd just taken.

She studied the digital image. “It's incredible. You managed to catch that hawk soaring over all this.” She looked up toward the ridgetop to see if it was still there. “I didn't even see it.”

He smiled and dismantled the tripod to tuck it back into the straps of his camera bag. “Let's drive up the road a little further. See how far this goes.”

They did and found more vistas around the next bend. And the next.

It was several hours later when Spencer seemed to be satisfied with his morning's work and started to pack up his equipment.

He leaned over to kiss Zola impulsively, his lips cold from the time out of doors. “I will never say a derogatory word about your gift again.” He smiled at her.

“You'd better not.” She traced a hand down his face affectionately. She couldn't admit to him what a rare joy it had been to watch him work. The creative energy flowed off him as he did. It was exciting.

“Your hands are cold.” He turned one of her hands over to blow his warm breath across her palm.

Zola's heart skittered a beat.

“Where are your gloves?” he asked.

“In my pocket. I took them off to eat an icicle. I was thirsty.” He seemed surprised at that and looked at his watch. Obviously, he'd lost track of time, absorbed in his work.

“Come on,” he said, opening the car door to let her in. “I'll take you to a late breakfast. It's the least I can do. Where do you want to go?”

“The Pancake House.” She grinned at him.

He started the car. “The Pancake House it is.”

They started down the mountain, Spencer stopping occasionally to take a few more shots. He was like a man obsessed when working.

“Tell me what it's like to see as a photographer,” Zola asked him later as they sat over breakfast, drinking hot coffee and eating eggs, sausage, and hot pancakes drizzled with fresh blueberries and blueberry syrup.

He looked thoughtful. “A photographer has to learn to see in a new way. He needs to learn to see scenes in lines, shapes, and textures. Like an artist, he learns to manipulate and set his scene, use the influence of light and the force of color to his advantage.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“The camera becomes a tool for exploration. With experience and a right heart, a good photographer can gain a picture that captures nature's soul.” He gestured as he talked. “Like any artistic endeavor, the goal is to share your experience with others, to make them see as you see. To touch them in a new way.”

She leaned forward, fascinated with his words.

“If I photograph a picket fence,” he continued, “I want the viewer to not only see the fence in its rural setting but to feel the rhythm of the fence.” He spread his fingers in an arc as if drawing the fence in the air. “Sometimes I think photography achieves its uniqueness by expressing what is impossible to express in words.”

Zola licked blueberry syrup off her fingers. “I like the messages and stories your photographs portray, Spencer. You're very good at what you do.”

“Thank you.” He stretched his shoulders back, obviously tired. “Do you mind stopping by the gallery with me, Zola? I'd like to leave my photos with Clark—so he can begin to look through the images. He's an expert on the computer and has an eye for just which shots will make the best print images.”

He dug money out of his pocket for the tip. “I often let him go through the images to give me his take and then I go through them on my own later, comparing my ideas with his. When Clark and I get it down to the wire and decide on a handful of shots, then Aston has this incredible knack of knowing which images will sell. Sometimes what is the best art and what is the best image to sell are two totally different things.”

Zola had never thought about photography as a group process. “The three of you make a good team.”

“We do. That's true.” He got up, dropped the tip on the table, and picked up their breakfast ticket before reaching out a hand to help Zola from her chair.

It dawned on Zola then that Spencer was consistently a gentleman in this way. He opened car doors, took her elbow crossing a street, helped her up and down from her seat.

She looked at him as she took his hand. “You have good manners.”

He grinned at her. “It's the Southern gentleman bred into me. My sister Rita would say it's my good Southern Chatsworth blood showing.”

Zola noticed a warm tone when Spencer mentioned Rita's name. “You're fond of your sister?”

His face darkened. “We were close once. When we were small.”

Zola left the subject wisely alone then. Spencer would tell her about his life one day when he was ready.

At the gallery, Spencer enthusiastically shared the adventures of his morning photo shoot with Aston and Clark. Zola wandered around the well-lit gallery spaces studying Spencer's work. She hadn't been in the gallery in several months, and she saw the pictures with new eyes now that she knew the photographer.

Clark soon went into the back office to work on the computer, and Spencer and Aston walked over to where Zola stood, observing a close-up photo of a purple aster with a bee on it.

She pointed to the framed photo. “Did you know honey bees, like this one in your photograph, often travel four miles to collect pollen and nectar from flowers and blossoms to make honey?”

Aston grinned. “That's a huge distance for a little bee. Wonder if they take the weekends off or ever take a rest?”

“Actually, they do rest some days.” Zola turned to him with a smile. “They also take a break on rainy days from collecting.”

Aston laughed with a hearty sound. “So when we're moaning over a rainy day, the bee guys are having a happy dance for getting a day off.”

“I guess so.” Zola liked Aston. He was an easy, comfortable black man, wonderful with the public and very competent and smart. Spencer was lucky to have him.

Aston gave her a small hug now. “It's good to see you again, Zola Devon. It's been a long time.”

“Yes, it has.”

He stepped back, still holding her hand affectionately in his. “I'd have invited you and Spencer to go to lunch with me but Spencer tells me you just finished a late breakfast.”

“We did. Our morning got rather busy and we were late eating.”

Aston smiled. “So I heard.” He shook his head then. “I'm envious of Spencer getting a whole morning to himself with a beautiful woman. I'd like to have someone special to be taking to lunch.”

Spencer interrupted them, looking at his watch. “Listen, I'd better take Zola home. I know she's tired. Her little mission got her up at the crack of dawn today.”

Zola wandered over to look at a few more photographs while Spencer and Aston said their good-byes. Then Spencer came to help Zola back into her coat.

As they started to leave, Zola stopped abruptly and turned back to look at Aston. She was hearing a word for him. It floated up clearly into her consciousness.

“Aston, if you'll go to lunch right now you might not have to eat lunch alone.” She grinned at him. “Go to the Garden Café and look for the woman alone at the table by the window in the right front corner.”

Aston stepped forward eagerly, his face lighting up. “Will she be a black woman, this lady by the window?”

Zola laughed. “I believe that's what you've been praying for, isn't it, Aston? God likes a specific prayer. I also think you'll find she grew up near the ocean, like you. I think you mentioned that would be nice, too.”