Stony River (10 page)

Fenn was reading at the table in a circle of light that illumined him, but left the corners of the room in shadow. A bottle of Old Crow stood in front of him. “Didn’t know you were gone,” he said, looking up at her entrance. His eyes were unnaturally bright.

“Y-you’re—not waiting up for me?” she faltered.

“’Course not.”

Suddenly she realized how unrealistic she’d been to think he was worried about her. “I just thought…you’re up later than usual…”

“Tomorrow’s my day off. Even Hawk hasn’t figured a way to make us work seven days a week without paying us yet.” He spoke thickly, and she realized with a little shock he was drunk. She stood speechless until he spoke to her again, roughly. “Go on, let me be.”

She made herself obey him, crossing the floor to the washbasin. But on her way past him again, she hesitated. He looked so alienated that it stabbed at her. “Fenn,” she said, wanting to help him, “don’t you know it’s not good to drink by yourself? My health teacher said it’s a psychological trap that can make you end up becoming an alcoholic.”

“So have a swig.” He stood to his full height—impressive even in his stocking feet—and shoved the bottle toward her.

“No, that’s not what I—”

For one heart-stopping second she thought he was going to force the bottle down her throat. But then he set it on the table and sank back into his chair. “Sevana, I thought I made it clear,” he said, in a voice barely restrained by effort. “What I do is none of your concern. While you’re in this house—whatever goes on under this roof—it’s not your affair.”

“What are you saying?” She was staggered he could be so deluded. “How can it
not
concern me? I’m not just a summer boarder. You’re my own brother, and I care about you.”

“Family means nothing to me,” he retorted coldly. “I give you leave to sleep under my roof as occasion demands, but don’t ask anything more of me.”

“No family, nor friends either, if I recall,” Sevana recounted for his benefit. “That’s a fine choice! I bet if you were all alone on God’s earth, you might rethink your position in a hurry.”

Fenn laughed shortly. “If I was alone on God’s earth—or anyone else’s earth, for that matter—I would be happier than I can presently imagine.”

“Why?” She was frustrated in the face of his imperturbable defense. “Have the years on this lonely mountain made you forget what companionship is? I would think its effect would be just the opposite—”

“Sevana,” he cut her off in a tone of steel, rising to his feet again, “spare me your speculations, and respect the distance I require.”

“All right.” All at once she relinquished the last fragile hope he might yet appreciate her company. “You want distance—I’ll give you all the distance you want. But I’ll always be your sister, Fenn—you can’t change that. You can shut people out by choice, but there’s nothing you can do if they choose to love you anyway.” There was a little note of triumph in her unsteady voice.

“Let them do as they please,” he mocked, not at all touched by her speech.

She gave him a furious look in peculiar contrast to her last statement, and fled upstairs.

Sitting on the bed, she stared at the yellow glow behind the ridgeline where the invisible moon lay as if weighted, unable to muster the height to show its face those days of early summer. Such a turmoil of emotions conflicted her—disillusionment, hurt, and the loneliness of which it seemed she would never be free; but one thing stood clear above it. If Fenn didn’t want anything to do with her, she would abide by his wishes: she would leave altogether. She had supposed she had no option but to stay there, but she would make her own options. She would catch a ride to Cragmont with someone traveling the road, and stay in a motel until she made other plans. It would be starting out on her own a little sooner than expected, that was all. Her father would understand when she explained the situation. Anything was better than tormenting Fenn with her unwanted presence. Yes, in the morning she would go, and leave him to his desired peace.

Resolutely she packed her belongings, an ache in her heart despite her bold determinings. Peering a last time into the night still lit by that bodiless glow, and feeling so far-removed on that forsaken mountain she hoped it not unrealistic to think she could find a ride to town, she fell into an unsettled sleep.

In the night a storm descended from the heights, hitting the house with a fury that caused Sevana to wake with a start of fright. Wind was shrieking at the window, demanding to be let in. The moonglow was gone, the night so dark she could see no more with her eyes open than closed. She fumbled to light the candle, and felt some relief when by its wavering flame she could see the rough logs of her room again. She hadn’t known darkness could be so purely, solidly dark. There had always been streetlights in the city.

Sitting up in bed, every muscle tensed beneath her flannel nightshirt, she listened to the storm. There were other sounds in it besides the wind howling in the trees: an eerie scraping of branches against the roof, the growl of thunder in the distance, and a dull banging noise not too far away. A light shone under her door, and she knew the storm had wakened Fenn as well. She was nervously wondering if the violent wind could send the enormous fir behind the house toppling through the roof, when there came a blinding flash of light and a tremendous, splintering crash that jarred the bed—indeed, the entire house—and sent her running for Fenn instinctively, like a frightened animal to shelter.

She nearly collided with him on the landing as he came out of his room dressed in day clothes. “Oh Fenn, what’s happening?” she cried, clutching his arm as she looked up to him in the murky light between the two candlelit rooms.

“It’s just a night storm passing through.” He shook himself free of her clinging grasp. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever heard thunder before?”

“Not like that!” she declared with conviction. “Nor such wind! Where did it come from? The sky was clear not many hours ago.”

“It comes down from the mountains, and with little warning,” he replied. “You’d better get used to it—we have many such storms.” He brushed by her for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“The barn door’s come unlatched. Go back to bed, Sevana. What do you want me to do—make it stop for you?” He sounded groggy and disgruntled, as if he hadn’t had time to sleep off the effects of the Old Crow.

Sevana went back to bed. But when more time had elapsed and the storm was as intense as ever, with rain now heard on the roof, she started to wonder why Fenn was taking so long. Maybe he was not functioning in full capacity after his night of drinking. What if he had stumbled and fallen—or even passed out? She had never been around anyone who drank, so she wasn’t sure how impaired he might be. When she could stand the uncertainty no longer, she went downstairs. Out on the back porch she called his name into the windy darkness, but another flash of lightning and an explosive clap of thunder was the only response.

She began picking her way up the rain-dampened path aided by occasional flickers of lightning, trying to tell if there was a light at the barn. “Fenn?” she called.

Reaching the barn, she was feeling along the wall to find the door—when it flew open with sudden force, striking her backwards to the ground.

“Sevana!” Fenn was bending over her with a flashlight. “Can you hear me?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out. She fought for air; she was suffocating.

As Fenn lifted her from the ground she coughed, and oxygen came rushing back into her lungs. Greedily she gulped in the moist night air. It felt so good to breathe.

“You okay?” Fenn asked, carrying her down the path to the house.

“Yes.” She was alert enough to be gratified by the concern in his voice. “I just got the wind—knocked out of me.”

In her room he laid her on the bed. “Gad, Sevana, you weigh less than a piece of punk cedar,” he said, sweeping his gaze over her flannel-clad form. “You hit your head?”

“I don’t think so. I’m fine now, Fenn.” Her breathing restored, she now felt idiotic for venturing into the storm thinking Fenn might be a casualty, only to become a victim herself.

Briefly he felt the pulse in her wrist. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

She felt obligated to tell him the truth, unjustified as it might be. “You were taking so long, I thought maybe—something had happened to you.”

“And you came to check on me?” His voice was suddenly tight and forbidding. He straightened, all solicitude gone. “I don’t need you keeping track of me, Sevana. Believe it or not—all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve managed to get along without you.”

She rolled over, away from the glare of his unfriendly eyes. He could continue to get along without her, she thought unhappily. When he came home from work tomorrow, she would be gone.

CHAPTER 7

Sevana went down the stairs neither as angry nor upset as she’d gone up them the night before. Nevertheless, Fenn’s aloof stature and masked countenance as he stood frying the pancakes and ham without so much as a word of good morning to her, brought back the strength of her resolve—and with it, an irresistible desire to show him she likewise did not care.

Breakfast was eaten in stony silence by both parties, and when once their eyes accidentally met, Sevana gave him a look of ice. Level and cold—she would top him if she could. He would never be able to accuse her of wanting to be his friend again. But at the same time she felt an inadvertent stab of pity for him, for he still looked tired, his face colorless and his eyes bruised with bluish shadows. He looked different in other ways that morning as well, for he wore ordinary blue jeans instead of hacked-off work trousers, and no suspenders with his cotton jersey.

The statue across the table unnerved Fenn not in the least. He nonchalantly finished his breakfast and began pairing leftover pancakes and ham to take with him fishing.

Seeing him slather mustard over a flabby pancake, Sevana felt a twinge of remorse. She’d been intending to make him some bread—but it was too late for that now. “I’m leaving today,” she announced.

“Leaving?” He turned with a canning jar in his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to catch a ride to Cragmont. You can bring my things in later.” Her eyes were on the quart jar he was holding. “Where did you get those pickles?”

“What?”

“The pickles. They’re homemade. Who gave them to you?”

He glared at her. “Just a friend of mine.”

“I thought you didn’t have any friends.” It didn’t matter how mad she made him, because she was leaving.

“Just mind your own business.” As he opened the jar, a pathetic little blue ribbon tied around the lid fell unheeded from his callused hands.

“Yes, that’s my plan exactly,” she confirmed with a decided nod. “I’ll let you know which motel I’m staying in.”

“There’s only one,” he corrected her automatically. “Just what do you intend to do in Cragmont?”

“I’ll stay there until I decide what to do next.”

“Will you!” He speared a cucumber on the point of a knife. “And what has caused this change of plans? You find the place too rough for your liking?”

She compressed her lips as she toyed with the handle of her tin cup. “It’s not the place. It’s—you.”

“What—just because I’d rather not indulge in your fond little brother-sister fantasies?” He sounded disgusted.

She watched him slice the dill over the fried ham. “It’s not that—especially. I just—don’t want to stay if you don’t want me here.”

“You’re overreacting. I never said that. All I want is my own space. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, it’s just…” She didn’t continue.

“Look, Sevana, you can’t just be running around on your own.” He stopped bagging up his unorthodox sandwiches to reason with her. “Folks would start asking questions—send you back to me, likely as not. I am your appointed guardian for the summer, after all.”

“Unwillingly,” she was swift to point out.

“It’s true I’m not used to having anybody else around,” he admitted blandly. “But I did agree to it. If I wasn’t willing for you to come, I wouldn’t have given my consent.” His lunch—such as it was—was made, his fishing pole and tackle by the door. Now he was taking time with her when he normally would have been leaving.

Sevana stared at him, two spots of color in her cheeks. After everything he’d indicated to the contrary, he now seemed to be asking her to stay. He was ready to go, lunch in hand, yet he stood waiting for her response with more than his usual tolerance. “Come on, Sevana, it’s only for a few months. You can put up with it here that long, can’t you?”

She swallowed. “If you’re sure it’s all right with you.”

“I’m sure.” He headed for the door. “Then I’ll see you tonight. With fish for supper, maybe. And since you seem to like to cook, why don’t you make some bread? I won’t be back to town before we run out.”

“I—could try.” She was still adjusting to his abrupt turnabout in manner. She went out to watch as he put his gear in the truck. “Where are you going?”