Stony River (63 page)

Willy tried to console her. All artists were subject to fits of despondency, he told her—it was part of the artistic temperament. Once again he tried to get her to forget painting, forget everything, and come out to the Roadhouse for a good time. And once again Sevana had to turn him down.

Still, Willy was a lifesaver in many ways. If all artists were subject to despondency, she wondered where he kept his hidden. Only infrequently did something set him in a bad mood, and he was quickly over it, like an afternoon thunderstorm soon spent of its fury. He was slightly zany, she thought affectionately. She came to count on him—for whether it was her newly completed picture hanging on the wall with a million dollar price tag, a rubber snake on top of a picture frame she was dusting, or the phony thousand-dollar bill he slipped into the cash register to see her face when she counted the money at the end of the day, he could make her laugh.

In return for the benefit she unspokenly received from him, she tried harder to hide the hopelessness that came upon her so strongly at times, and threw herself into her assignments with a zeal that delighted him. In her spare time she finished the picture from his book, using the principles he’d taught her to make it a dramatic study of color and light. She was glad it was so beautiful, glad the Lindfords should have one of the best she’d ever done.

Willy praised it as he did all her efforts, and continually assured her she was destined for greatness. It pleased her, but it didn’t mean as much to her as it once would have. Although she tried her best to devote her energies to it, art could not in any adequate measure fill the empty spaces of her heart.

And at the same time, her desire to return to the mountains had taken on a life of its own. For if the one thing restraining it had been her determination to make a success of her life there, the faltering of that determination had broken the only barrier holding it in its bonds. Once rejected for its sheer impracticality, the idea was back full-force in her daydreams. Furthermore, the knowledge that Joel could never be hers, made her rebound rebelliously with the thought that Cragmont still could be.

One Sunday afternoon while she sat at the top of the stairs in jeans and a shirt-jacket, her curled hair tied up carelessly with a ribbon, pondering a walk to occupy her day now that church was over—Willy drove up. He hailed her with a sunny look that brightened her spirits immediately, and climbed the stairs to sit beside her. “Came by to ask if you wanted to go for a hike,” he said—which suggestion was met by a prompt and energetic bounce of her precarious ponytail.

They drove north to a park in the riverbreaks. “There’s a maze of trails down here if you like to walk. Oh, that’s right, you do,” he teased as they got out of the car.

“Let’s go!” she cried, running ahead in a little burst of speed.

They took a maintained trail through a dry side-gorge. No one else was around. Willy pointed out a few late-blooming flowers and even, curiously, some little cactuses that grew on the barren hillsides. They stopped at a viewpoint to look over the river. “Not bad for December, eh?” Willy gloated. For all the snow had melted in a chinook, and except for the leafless trees, it could have been October.

At another observation point he asked casually, “So, are you coming with me when I move the shop?”

“You’ve decided to do it?”

“Still thinking about it. If I did, would you come?”

“I would certainly consider it.”

“Don’t run me over with your enthusiasm.”

“I’m sorry, Willy.” She was instantly contrite. “It’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently, about what direction my life should take.”

“You told me not so long ago you knew exactly what you wanted.”

“Yes, I know. But lately I’ve been questioning everything—who I am and where I belong.” She bent to touch a little cactus beside the path to see if the spines were as real as they looked. “It seems so out of place here,” she mused, snatching back her finger. She straightened again. “I’m not too sure of anything right now, Willy.”

“You’re young, Sevana, and it’s typical to ask those kinds of questions.” Willy’s response was prompt and unhesitating. “But—lucky for you—in your case the answers are easy. You have what it takes to be a great artist, and you belong where those skills can best be let to flourish. There’s no better place than Calgary for that, for it’s the center of all kinds of art and culture—with as many opportunities and contacts for your work as you could wish.”

“I know I’m meant to be an artist,” she agreed, thinking out loud. “And I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, Willy, for I know how much you’ve done for me. But as much as I look ahead, all I really want to do is go back to Cragmont.” The longstanding ache in her heart made her reckless—less concerned with the right thing to say, and knowing only what she wanted.

“Cragmont!” His reaction was as overwhelmingly negative as she could have predicted. “That little hick town? What would possess—oh, I know. It’s your friends-only friend, isn’t it?” he concluded suspiciously.

“No. I
told
you he’s getting married. And he won’t even be there—he’s moving to Vancouver.” She began to pace the observation area. “My brother is there, of course, although I doubt he’d be glad to see me. It’s mostly—I just can’t get that place out of my mind,” she stopped to admit revealingly. “I keep thinking of those high mountain ridges, and the river running so clear you can see every stone on the bottom, and the great, tall trees—trees so big you wouldn’t believe it, Willy!—until I feel I simply
must
get back and find myself in their shelter once again.”

“Sevana,” Willy said patiently, guiding her into the path with a hand on her elbow, “everybody likes big trees and high mountains. But in Calgary you can have a position that will put you at the leading edge of the art world—and whenever you want to see mountains, you can jump in your gold-plated sportscar and drive one hour west to some of the most spectacular ranges in the world.”

What he said made sense—all except for the gold-plated car. She wanted to agree with him. Instead, her mood of truth-telling made her say: “Visiting the mountains isn’t the same as living in them day-to-day, though. If you’d ever lived there, Willy, you would know there’s a sort of magic that gets into your thinking and makes you believe it’s the only life you’ll ever want.”

Willy realized this was going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. “All right, I understand, Sevana,” he said generously. “I’m sure that life does possess a certain appeal for you. But you’ve got to realize it can’t do anything for you. I can! I’m going places and you can, too, if you’ll just come with me. You’ve got the talent to be famous, you’ve got me to help you, and a position that can put you in the very heart of the art world. Those aren’t things to be taken lightly.”

“I know,” she said in a troubled way. She stopped in the path, the up-canyon wind tossing the loose curls at her throat. “It’s just what I always thought I wanted.”

If Willy caught the intimation in her voice, he chose to ignore it. “Of course it is,” he said engagingly. “It’s perfect for you; it’s easy to see that. I don’t know if I’ve told you this in so many words, but I’m proud of you. You’ve taken off in your painting, and now there’s nothing to hold you back. And you’re doing a marvelous job at the shop. I don’t know how I ever managed without you.”

“Thank you, Willy.” Her heart warmed at his generous praise. “It has all worked out better than I hoped, and I owe it all to you.”

Willy smiled at her. “It’s only the beginning,” he assured her. “Your talent can take you beyond anything you now think possible.”

“Sometimes I’m afraid of that.” Her voice dropped low. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m being swept into a current that is taking me somewhere I don’t want to go, and there’s no way to change its course.”

Willy’s carefully crafted castle came crashing down, and he had to pull himself back from the brink of his thin patience. “Did you hear what you just said, Sevana?” he demanded. “You’re
afraid
. You’re frightened because everything is happening so fast, and you want to run back to the time when things were slow-paced and your biggest worry was chopping enough wood to keep the fire going,”—for she had told him a few of her exploits. “That’s all this is. But if you just trust me, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I
told
you I’d help you every inch of the way.”

Sevana looked into his kindly earnest eyes and knew he would do just that. “Maybe you’re right, Willy.” She disliked hurting him by her reluctance. “Maybe it is just cold feet. I’m not really planning to go back to Cragmont. It’s just that I’m having a harder time than I expected, adjusting to this life. Sometimes it seems the greatest happiness I’ve found lies behind me. What if I never find anything equal to it in this new life I’ve chosen?”

“That’s where I come in.” He tipped her chin with a finger so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to make you happier than you can imagine.” He shook his head wonderingly. “My gosh, girl, you’re beautiful.” A second’s pause. “Sevana, do you remember the agreement we made last time we were out walking?”

Agreement! She had to think back to the half-moon over the prairie—and suddenly, she knew. “I remember,” she said, warily now.

“Let’s not keep it.” His voice held such compulsion it was barely a suggestion.

“Oh, Willy,” she pleaded, “please don’t ask it of me.”

“I must!” He took hold of her shoulders. “You are only hurting yourself by keeping your heart from me.”

“Willy,” she said, striving to find words that would make sense not only to him, but to her. “You are so dear, and I have nothing but high regard for you. But how can I share my heart with you, when even I don’t understand what it holds?”

A minute longer he regarded her puzzled eyes, so full of confusion and doubt. Then he dropped his hands. “It’s all right,” he said. “You’re only seventeen, for Pete’s sake. But when you wake up and see your dream is right in front of you, I’ll be here.” He spoke as though it was only a matter of time before she came round to seeing things his way. He caught her hand for the walk back to the car.

As they drove out of the gorge onto the tableland, the whole western sky was aflame, streaked and billowed with clouds in every shade of red-orange, from mango to persimmon to cayenne—defining the horizon with a clarity that made the darkening rim of the prairie seem chiseled by a fine-edged knife. “Look at that!” said Willy, each word weighted with fervor. He brought the car to a stop in the middle of the road and flung open his door. Sevana did the same, and together they walked into the open field, where they stopped with nothing to block their view.

“I spent all week on the wrong picture,” Willy mourned. Sevana saw the fascination in his expression. He might be sophisticated, with a head for business and a penchant for pleasure, but when it came to appreciating beauty he was as simple as she—and on that one point she understood him perfectly.

He looked over, saw the raptness in her own face. “Still miss the mountains, Sevana?”

She thought he looked very well, his eyes smoky as charcoal in the warm-hued light. “I think I’ll always miss the mountains, Willy,” she said honestly.

“How many sunsets did you see while you were living there?” he demanded.

“I saw the glow on the peaks a few times,” she answered obediently, “and once, the color of the clouds reflecting off the river.” Suddenly she was standing on the bank on a late-September evening, when the clouds had burned in the vanished sun and the river turned to fire. With effort she collected her thoughts. “But I only saw one true sunset, and it was from a lookout where I could see the whole sky.”

“See?” Willy said immediately. “Who’d want to be closed in like that? Once you get used to this open land, you’ll find so much to appreciate, you won’t give those claustrophobic canyons another thought.”

He said it in a comforting way as if he wished to ease her longing—and as they strolled back to the car, she wished he could be right. It would be nice to be at peace here, without all the time such a feeling of displacement. But was it possible by a mere decision of will, to make the prairie take the place the mountains had established in her heart?

Approaching the city, with the church steeple rising against the bittersweet sky, Willy proposed a swing out to the Roadhouse for dinner. But Sevana shook her head. “I need to work on my assignment.”

“Hang the assignment,” was Willy’s unbelabored advice, but Sevana wouldn’t give in. After he’d dropped her off, though, she almost regretted not going with him. Then she wouldn’t have to submerge herself in her artwork to hide from the fact that she had nothing else in her life.

But maybe this feeling of aimlessness would pass. If she just kept busy for now, maybe in time she would take new interest in the things around her, and could again be alone with her thoughts without being afraid they would find space to flee back in full measure to what lay behind. She knew she was running—running from things she couldn’t face, but she couldn’t help it. The emptiness was too great; the only thing she could do was look away from it. It was a funny sort of life, this living without a dream.

CHAPTER 44

David mentioned Christmas from the pulpit Wednesday night. He said there would be a dinner in the church basement Christmas afternoon for anyone without other engagements. Krysta would be there for the festivities, bringing a pair of orphans the mission had taken under its wing when their foster family had become financially unable to keep them any longer, and he was looking forward to having them for the holidays.