Stony River (77 page)

“You did?” He looked startled, then disturbed. “I called Chantal a month ago, told her I’d be back soon, and asked her to put everything on hold until I could talk to her.”

“Do you think she suspected what you were going to say?”

“Yes.” He was mulling it over as he spoke. “She was probably expecting another attack of conscience, and did it to make it easier for me not to question anything, just go along with it because it was already in the works. Or maybe
she
was getting cold feet, and sent out the invitations to make sure it happened despite her misgivings. All I know is, she can go through with a wedding if she wants, but I won’t be there.” And he set his jaw so stubbornly and looked so remote that Sevana ventured not another word.

“You said you’re leaving tomorrow?” he emerged at length from his gray study to ask.

“Yes, if Willy can find his way here. Although I don’t want to go so soon—with you here,” she made bold to say.

“Yes, it’s bad timing, isn’t it? I’ll have to come visit you in Calgary.”

“Please do,” she said miserably. “I’ve really missed you, Joel.”

“Yes, you, too, Sevana.” He was tight as a trap.

Sevana pondered what to do. Now was the chance to tell him how she felt about him—she may not have another opportunity. “Joel—”

But on the very brink of speaking, she was seized with fear over how the forward thing would sound. If he was breaking it off with Chantal because of her, wouldn’t he have said so—instead of acting so restrained and distant, as though he didn’t know her anymore?

“What is it?”

“I have to get dinner for Fenn,” she blurted, jumping to her feet. “We’d be happy if you could join us.”

Joel thanked her, but would not accept—until she guessed his thoughts and informed him that he would find Fenn much improved. Then curiosity, along with tiredness and hunger, won out, and he agreed to the invitation. He walked down with her to his truck.

All the way to the turnaround, Sevana tried to muster the courage to bring up the subject again. But once the words were out, she could never take them back if they weren’t something he wanted to hear. How terrible that would be! It would put a strain on their friendship ever afterward. Maybe he wasn’t ready to think of such things so soon after his broken engagement. Maybe they could discuss it later when he came to Calgary. She felt she was strangling with the force of her emotions—elated he wasn’t marrying Chantal, despairing over the soonness of her leaving, uncertain of his feelings for her. And she still had said nothing by the time they’d reached his truck, and he was saying, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check out Avalanche Creek before I come down.”

“See you in a little while, then.” She positively fled down the road, away from the strange tension between them, fighting the urge to break into hysterical crying. As she burst in the door with a wild look, Fenn glanced over casually, then started up in haste from the leather chair. “What’s the matter—see a grizzly?”

“No,” she huffed, her face flushed and her breathing ragged as she dropped on the closest chair.

“A cougar?”

“No. Joel’s back, that’s all.”

He grinned. “That bad, eh?”

“It was just such a surprise.” She made a concentrated effort to regain her composure. “I invited him to dinner. I hope you don’t mind.” Then, suddenly remembering—“Where’s Melanie?”

“She had to go. She was sorry she missed you. But I reckon you’ll be seeing her soon.”

“Oh, Fenn,” she said, looking normal for the first time. “Is she— Are you—?”

“Yes,” he said. “The next time she climbs Eaglehead Dome, it won’t be solo. And she wanted me to tell you—well, we both want to tell you—thank you.”

“Oh, Fenn!” She jumped up to give him a hug, while with a laugh he scooped her into a bear hug of his own.

CHAPTER 54

When Joel appeared quizzically in the open door, Fenn welcomed him in and shook his hand so decently that Sevana could scarcely conceal her mirth at Joel’s undisguised look of surprise. But even though everyone made the effort to be sociable at dinner, the conversation lagged at times. They covered generally the topics of Fenn’s impending return to light-duty work as an equipment operator on the logging crew, and the condition of Joel’s father, and speculated on Randall’s long absence—but there were many things Joel didn’t seem to want to discuss in detail, and with Fenn’s naturally uncommunicative personality, it made for rather a quiet meal. Sevana chattered disconnectedly on various subjects and forgot to eat her stew. The hardships north had made Joel’s outward composition perilously thin, so that a heartbreaking weariness showed through. His hands were clumsy. Once his fork dropped with a clatter on his plate. He said his fingers had a touch of frostbite but were getting better. She kept urging him to take more food. But after only one cup of after-dinner coffee and a small square of gingerbread—saying he wasn’t used to eating so much—he set back his chair and said he’d better get back to his father.

Sevana walked with him to the truck. “What’s happened to Fenn?” he exclaimed, as soon as they were away from the house.

“It was a hard winter for him, too,” she replied. “I’ll tell you about it—next time I see you.”

They faced each other without speaking. “Good luck in Vancouver,” she finally constructed.

“I’ll need it. Good luck to you in Calgary.”

“You
will
come to visit, won’t you?”

“If you want me to.”

“I’m counting on it, Joel,” she said, still striving to find the familiarity that had eluded her ever since his return.

“But we can’t be a foursome now…without Chantal.” He tried to make light, though his lips did not actually smile.

“A friendship forged on the mountain is for always, no matter what,” she quoted, her face feeling stiff.

“Not to mention the country club,” he added—and then they did laugh, if but for a passing moment.

Briefly she was in his arms, aware of the sharp bones in his ironlike frame. And then he was driving away, and she was turning back to the house before he could see the traitorous tears.

That evening Sevana tackled the housecleaning, wanting to leave things in good order for Fenn. She was up early next morning to finish the task. She wasn’t sure what time Willy would arrive, but she expected him about noon. She still had a hard time picturing the low-slung sportscar venturing up the river road, but Fenn assured her the creeks had dropped enough that even Willy’s low-centered car could make it through.

Setting her bags by the door, she started an apple pie for Fenn with the last of the withered fruit from the root cellar. A kettle of beans and ham simmered on the stove, and two loaves of fresh-baked bread nested in a clean cloth. That she was worried about Fenn fending for himself was spoken more eloquently by her multitudinous labors than anything she could have said. It was during this latest flurry of baking that Fenn approached her. “Made this for you.” He put a miniature knife with a carved horn handle into her palm.

“Oh Fenn, it’s darling.” Sevana’s face glowed with more than the heat of the stove to think he would go to such effort for her.

“Wanted you to have something to remind you of the mountains while you’re in the city,” he explained. “Maybe if you don’t get too wrapped up in your glitzy career, you can make it back here once in a while.” And then because it was a much more sentimental speech than he was accustomed to making, he disappeared outside without warning—but leaving behind a good deal of sunshine.

Willy didn’t come until mid-afternoon, dust and mud on the normally meticulous car. He met Sevana halfway across the yard with a conspicuous affair of tulip buds and daisies and tulle, swept her into an embrace and wouldn’t let go. “My gosh,” he kept repeating like a monk reciting a mantra, “my gosh, Sevana, if I hadn’t asked a local in Cragmont, I would have sworn I was on the wrong road. I had to drive through
three creeks
to get here. Apparently bridges haven’t been invented out here yet. I can’t believe the Jag is still running after being submerged up to the grill.”

“Willy, I’m so sorry—I was worried about your car. I would have asked Fenn to drive me to Cragmont to meet you, but there wasn’t time to arrange anything by the time I got your letter. And there wasn’t enough sun to call you from the logging camp.”

Willy was never to understand that last statement, for Fenn was coming forward to meet him. “Hello there, Willy.” He was obviously sizing him up in a new light after witnessing the exchange of flowers and his illustrative greeting. Sevana couldn’t tell what Fenn’s real opinion of him was.

“My gosh, Fenn,” Willy burst out again, rumpling up his hair with a distracted hand. “I can’t believe you live out here. Cragmont’s nothing to speak of, and it’s
two hours
away.”

“You get used to it.” Fenn dismissed it as a matter of course.

But Willy was still in the hold of severe disbelief. “There was this one stretch after Cragmont—a cliff hanging over the river, right? And dead in the middle of it, I meet this logging truck. What was I supposed to do? I motioned for him to back up, but he wouldn’t budge. I had to back up for half a mile with the guy on my nose the whole time, and then he didn’t even wave as he went by. Acted like he owned the road and I was in
his
way.”

Sevana’s heart dropped. Of all the times she’d been through that tight passage, she had never met another vehicle. It would have to happen to Willy. And a logging truck!

“You can’t back up big trucks like that,” Fenn informed him mildly. “And to tell the truth, you’re lucky he even stopped. In this country, logging trucks
do
own the road.”

“Boy, I bet you have people lining up to move out here,” Willy muttered. “I knew you were out in the sticks and whatnot, but this is the positive
wilderness
. There’s
nothing
out here.”

“There’s trees, Willy.” Sevana was laughing at him because he was so funny. The ultimate city boy, his shined leather brogues in contact with ground that wasn’t paved. “A river. Lots of creeks. Deer, elk, moose, bear,
tons
of tree squirrels.” She felt a sudden rush of affection for him. She’d missed him more than she’d realized.

“Are you in a hurry?” Fenn inquired. “I think Sevana has something in mind for lunch.”

“Er—I’d rather get on the way,” Willy responded with a nervous look at the sky, as if even the little he could see of it might disappear. “If that’s all right. Something about these mountains…it’s like they could cave in on you.”

Fenn looked at him tolerantly. “All right, I’ll help you load up. Take care of her, man. Make sure she’s okay in the big city.”

“You got it.” Willy stowed the things Fenn handed him in the back seat.

“’Bye, Fenn.” Sevana gave him a hug. “Don’t forget, dinner’s on the stove.” It was hard to leave him after all the time they’d spent, just the two of them, the past few weeks.

“Thanks for helping me out.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned and let her go.

“Any time, Fenn. You know that.” She got hurriedly in the car.

“Lord in heaven,”
Willy was saying as they bumped down the hill. “No electricity…water… My apartment is going to look like Buckingham Palace to you. Gosh, I’ve missed you, girl. These weeks have been an eternity. Wait till you see how I’ve set up the shop. It’s a big improvement over the old one. I’m keeping it open six days a week, so I really need your help. I’ve made more money in three weeks than I did the past three months in Lethbridge.”

Sevana wasn’t very conversational because she was trying not to cry. Finally she said, “Willy, would you mind stopping at the Lakeshore Lodge on our way through Cragmont? There’s an old man who’s sick staying there, father of a friend, whom I’d like to see just for a minute.”

“Sure thing,” Willy assented. “Maybe we can do lunch there. If you want to give him those flowers, I can get you some more.”

“Willy, you’re the sweetest,” she declared. “They’re so lovely. I didn’t know tulips even came in mauve. Did you pick them up on the way, or…?” she paused delicately.

“Flowershop in Calgary.”

“Ah.”

They ordered sandwiches at the Lodge, and while they were waiting to be served, Sevana went to inquire about Mr. Wilder. Directed by the matronly owner to one of the farthest rooms down the carpeted hall, she found him sitting in work clothes and boots in a recliner, his wheelchair beside him. Feeble and drawn, he was still a good-sized man, and none of the abuses he had dealt himself had entirely erased his resemblance to a hale outdoorsman used to existing by his own resources. “Mr. Wilder?” She came in to lay the bouquet on the bedside table. “I’m a friend of Joel’s.”

She stayed only a short while, expressing her solicitude that he’d been sick. He was quite cordial, said he appreciated her visit. Said she’d missed Joel by more than a few hours. Off to Vancouver before dawn to break his engagement to some dame he’d never met. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. Hoped it wasn’t because he felt obligated to take care of his old man. But apparently Joel had left him in the dark, too, regarding the motivation for his decision. Sevana found herself liking the older man. She didn’t forget how he had treated his son, but now—with something of penitence and cooperation in his attitude—she suspected that relationship was in for better times ahead.