Return to Crutcher Mountain (Cedar Hollow Series Book 2)

by Clayton, Melinda

  Chapter 9

  I was beat. It had been an exhausting couple of days, first with the travel and then with the kids. They were amazing, but they’d certainly given me a run for my money. A couple of groups, a trust walk, lunch, an equine therapy session, and finally a scavenger hunt. More excitement than I’d had in years, and my respect for the staff had tripled throughout the day as I’d observed their skill with the children.

  I ate dinner in the cafeteria with Nora, bypassing the hamburgers in favor of a salad and fresh fruit. As we sat observing the kids at their scattered tables, my circumstances felt surreal. I was unable to fathom any threat of danger in such a therapeutic place. The mountain was peaceful, of course, as it had always been, but it was more than that. The staff had done an exemplary job of creating an atmosphere of acceptance and safety, and it showed in the open faces of the children. I was beginning to learn the kids’ names, their personalities, and even more I was beginning to develop a fondness for each of them.

  There was Marcus, systematically picking his food apart and dropping it on the floor, cackling the whole time. And Anthony, quiet now, his beautiful face angelic, leaning slightly away from Robby, listening intently to something Robby was saying. And Stacey, in her chair, smiling at Joseph as he spread mayonnaise on her hamburger bun.

  I still had no idea, really, why I was even there, and I felt rather silly for having dropped everything for the earliest flight to Huntington. The whole scenario seemed foolish now, like an overly dramatic practical joke. Barring any incidents, I thought I could change my flight home and leave early, making it back to Los Angeles by Thursday at the latest.

  I didn’t need to remain on Crutcher Mountain any longer than was necessary. The last thing I wanted was to fall under the spell of the mountains. Grieving as I was, vulnerable, I couldn’t survive the sorcery of Appalachia. Already, I could feel the mountain seducing me.

  The children finished with dinner and staff guided them into the common area for closing group while Mrs. Huffman bustled about, tidying up the cafeteria. I had seen both Mr. and Mrs. Huffman several times throughout the day, and though we hadn’t had a chance to speak, I’d been impressed with their work ethic and their apparent devotion to the children. Mr. Huffman had obviously expended an enormous amount of effort ensuring that the forest paths were cleared well enough to allow even those children with limited mobility access to group wilderness activities, and Mrs. Huffman, though noticeably tired, cleaned Marcus’ thrown food from the floor without complaint.

  “They’ve been quite a blessing,” Nora remarked, noting my observation of Mrs. Huffman. “Lost most of their retirement when the stock market took a nosedive,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “Can you imagine? You work your whole life and when it’s time to retire, you can’t.”

  She pushed back her plate. “The plan is for them to stay here year round, even during January and February when we’re closed. They’ll look after the place, and in exchange they’ll receive room and board and a small salary. They seemed as grateful for the accommodations as we are to have them. They’re alone, no children or grandchildren. From what they tell me, Mrs. Huffman wasn’t able, which was heartbreaking for both of them. That’s why they’ve spent the majority of their lives working in one sort of children’s facility or another.”

  I hesitated, reluctant to ask my next question, but it needed to be asked. “Mr. Huffman was the one who found the fire, wasn’t he?”

  Nora nodded. “I know where you’re going with this, but they’ve both been through extensive background checks. They’re so clean they’re boring.”

  She shoved back her chair and stood, stretching her arms over her head and yawning loudly. “I’m about ready to call it a day,” she said. “I’ve got to be back here early in the morning. I’m going to go wrap up a couple of things in the office and then I’m heading home. Do you need anything before I go?”

  I shook my head. “I’m about to turn in myself.” I stood as well, groaning at the stiffness already evident in my thigh muscles. I’d forgotten how hard it was to climb mountain trails. My morning runs just couldn’t compare.

  “I don’t remember the last time I hiked so much.” I bent over, reaching towards my toes to stretch out my leg muscles. “Drive safely, and I’ll see you in the morning.” We returned our dishes to the kitchen, greeting Mrs. Huffman as we passed through, and went our separate ways, Nora to the office and me to my room for a shower and change of clothes.

  As I tried to make my way unobtrusively down the hallway to the south end of the Lodge I could hear the counselors wrapping up the final group session of the day, sending the children in pairs to complete their evening routines. “Robby,” I heard Mr. Bryan, the night counselor, say, “Thank you for sharing your concerns about the bunk beds. Anthony, thank you for being willing to switch places. As soon as we find Mrs. Huffman, we’ll get some fresh sheets on there and get you two settled for the night.”

  I’d been pleased to see Robby O’Brien at the Lodge. I’d known that Raymond O’Brien’s grandson had Down Syndrome, of course, though I’d never met the boy. It had frequently crossed my mind that he might enjoy the services offered by the program, and I had even mentioned it to Raymond when I’d been in town for the ribbon cutting ceremony.

  I wondered if it had been Raymond, before his death, who had arranged for Robby to attend. I decided that it most likely had. Raymond’s daughter, Isabelle, had a rebellious history both as a daughter and a mother, but Billy May had mentioned several times that Raymond absolutely adored his grandson and often cared for him when Isabelle was unwilling or unable. I wondered how Robby was handling the loss. I wondered, too, if Isabelle would finally be able to pull herself together enough to be a mother to the cute little boy. I certainly hoped she would.

  Dimly through the dark hallway I caught a sliver of light as the shadow of someone, Mr. Huffman I thought, passed through the doorway into his room, across the hall from mine. As his door closed, I realized mine was slightly ajar. I was certain I’d closed it, not out of any particular concern that someone would steal from me; after all, as Nora had reminded me, the staff had all undergone mandatory criminal background checks and the external doors to the Lodge were locked. The counselors were taking no chances in light of recent events.

  But I knew I’d left it closed. I’ve always been an intensely private person; closing and locking my door is second nature. I was more than a little irritated at the thought of someone entering my room without my knowledge or permission.

  Reaching the open door and snapping on the light, I was somewhat appeased to see that all appeared as I’d left it, unpacked suitcase on the bed and toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. Perhaps Mr. or Mrs. Huffman had needed access for some reason, to bring extra soap or oil a squeaky door. I made a mental note to ask Nora to speak with them about checking with me before entering my room. I didn’t want to be difficult, but I was adamant when it came to maintaining my privacy.

  I’d jumped into the role of volunteer so quickly that morning that I’d never had a chance to unpack. I eyed the suitcase, briefly tempted to arrange my clothes along the hangers in the closet before deciding to leave it as it was. The feeling that I’d overreacted to Nora’s call continued to grow. I didn’t plan on being at the Lodge long enough to warrant unpacking.

  There was a reasonable explanation for all of the strange things that had happened. New programs were bound to have a few bugs to work out. As the staff grew more confident and experienced, I felt sure the carelessly unlocked doors and forgotten latches would be a thing of the past.

  I also couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Corinne had a point about the fire. The investigation was still open, and it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that the new wiring was at fault. As far as I was aware, the initial suspicion of arson hinged solely on the note addressed to me.

  The note I could not explain. I had no idea who could have written it or why, but the sheriff’s department had it a
nd I had every confidence they’d get to the bottom of it. If the investigation validated that the fire was indeed intentionally set by someone, presumably the same someone who had written the note, the matter became a criminal investigation, outside of my control.

  In the meantime, I felt rather foolish hanging around and waiting on the mysterious note-writer to contact me. Barring any further contact, I fully anticipated catching a return flight to Los Angeles no later than Thursday, which meant I’d only have to live out of the suitcase for a couple more days.

  Satisfied with my decision, I kicked off my hiking boots, bending down for a moment to rub my aching feet, and rummaged in the suitcase for a pair of sweats. As I shed my clothes on the way to the shower, my hand brushed against the hard lump in the front pocket of my jacket. Billy May’s trinket bag. I’d done a good job of pushing it out of my mind throughout the course of the day.

  Stopping in my tracks, one leg still caught up in my jeans, I reached into the pocket and gently drew out the pouch. Made of worn leather and closed with a drawstring, the bag fit comfortably in my palm, the contents clinking softly as I held it. I knew what it contained without looking.

  A handful of stones. Pink quartz. Billy May had called it rock crystal. I had seen the stones glittering beside the creek bed in the setting sun one nightmarish evening when I’d run away from my stepfather. They had been my first gift to Billy May. I hadn’t known who she was at that time, other than that she was an elusive angel of mercy who left food and blankets in the little cave I used as a hiding place.

  Inside the bag, mixed in with the quartz, was also the last gift I’d given Billy May, an early Christmas present from the year before. Coquina shells, in every imaginable shade of blue, yellow, pink, orange, even purple, collected by the two of us on our walks along Paradise Cove the previous September.

  I could still see her clearly, facing out to sea, her white hair, cropped short as always, ruffling in the wind. Her jeans were rolled up to her knees and in true tourist spirit she proudly wore a Paradise Cove Beach Café t-shirt, ocean blue, the tail un-tucked and too long on her tiny frame, hanging halfway to her knees.

  She held a pair of white Keds sneakers in one hand, her bare toes wiggling in the wet sand, waves washing over her ankles. In her other hand she held a Coquina shell, the first she’d ever seen. She turned it over in her hand, the marbled pink shining in the light from the sun. It’s like holdin’ a little piece of the rainbow, ain’t it?

  Most of all I remember her expression, filled with wonder. I never knew, little girl, she was saying, looking again out to sea, watching the waves break apart. I never knew of anythin’ like this. She turned to look at me and her dark eyes sparkled. It’s the most beautiful sight I ever seen. It’s...well, I just never knew of anythin’ like it. I’d answered with a smile, content in that moment, a rare feeling for me.

  Billy May had laughed with pure delight when a squawking flock of seagulls swooped around her in search of food. It always annoyed me to see people feeding the gulls, precisely because it created the bold behaviors they were then exhibiting. They were a nuisance. In that moment, however, they were magical. Billy May had read about seagulls, but until that moment she’d never seen one.

  Look at that, Jessie, she had said, pointing to a particularly brazen gull. It’s Jonathan! A reference to the gull created in the imagination of author Richard Bach. He’s come to see me. Her voice was one I’d never heard before, young and weightless. Time shifted for just a moment and I had a glimpse of the girl she must have once been. She was beautiful.

  Billy May had always been fascinated with the ocean, and I’d tried for years to get her to come to Los Angeles for a visit, but she’d always refused. I reckon if I was meant to be in California, I’d have been put in California. Underneath her bravado, I’d assumed she was afraid. The furthest Billy May had ever traveled from Cedar Hollow was the fifty miles to Huntington, and that only after I enrolled at Marshall.

  I didn’t know what had made her finally agree to the trip, but I wondered if she had known it was the last opportunity she’d have. She died eight months later. Standing there on Crutcher Mountain, clutching her trinket bag to my chest, I couldn’t open it. I simply couldn’t.

  Billy May was everywhere; she was all around me, surrounding me. Yet she wasn’t. Therein lay the heartbreak. Bí comforted, she whispered again in my memory. Be comforted. But I wasn’t.

  Chapter 10: Robby

  Hi it’s me Robby again. Well I got done with my Evening Routine early and so I got fifteen minutes Free Time before bed. Everybody got Free Time because we all had a very good day. Well Anthony did not have a good day this morning but he did since then so he got Free Time too.

  They all wanted to watch SpongeBob SquarePants in the common area but I did not want to because he hurts my ears. I asked Mr. Bryan if I could sit outside because Grandpa said there is nothing like the clean night air to make a body sleep good and I am tired and I want to sleep good. At least Anthony will be on the bottom bunk tonight so his bed will not fall on top of me.

  Mr. Bryan said I could only go outside if I had someone to supervise me but who could that be? He opened the door and looked outside and said, “Oh, Ms. McIntosh, I didn’t know you were out here. Would you mind keeping an eye on Robby? It’ll only be for about ten minutes or so, then you can send him in.”

  I did not hear what she said but I guess it was okay because Mr. Bryan said, “Stay on the porch, Robby, okay?” And then he held the door open for me to go outside and I saw Ms. McIntosh and I knew she had been crying because I had seen my mom with that look lots of times.

  But she didn’t say anything about it. She just said, “Hello, Robby. It’s good to see you. Are you enjoying yourself?” I really liked her voice because it was nice and different from the voices I was used to so I went to the steps and sat down beside her. She smelled good and I could tell she had finished with Evening Routine because her hair was wet like she’d been in the shower. When I sat next to her she looked at me and smiled and I thought maybe she wasn’t that old after all. She had a nice smile.

  “Uh-huh,” I told her. “I like it here.” I really hoped she could understand my words because I liked her a lot. But not as much as Stacey.

  I guess she understood me because she said, “Good. I’m glad.” Then she surprised me and hurt my heart a little bit because she said, “I knew your grandpa, you know. You look a lot like him.” I just looked at her because I didn’t know what to say about that. I was proud to look like Grandpa but he looked old and I do not and I don’t want to talk about Grandpa.

  “He was my mother’s best friend,” she told me. And then I could tell she had tears in her voice but she didn’t have any in her eyes. I knew I would have tears in my voice too if I tried to talk because they were also in my eyes. Grandpa was my best friend too. I didn’t say anything though. I just looked out at the stars. There were a lot of them. She looked out at the stars too.

  After a minute she reached out and put her hand on my hair. Grandpa used to do that sometimes. The tears in my eyes got bigger. “I know it’s hard, Robby. It’s always hard to lose someone you love. But he’s still with you, in your heart. Do you understand?”

  I did understand that he was in my heart but I wanted him to be here in the world with me. I looked at her but I did not know how to tell her that but I guess she knew what I was thinking because she smiled but her face stayed sad and then she said, “It isn’t the same, is it? I still miss my mother every day. And I know you miss your grandpa. It isn’t the same at all.” And then I saw that the tears were in her eyes too and we just sat there for a while to let them dry out.

  Then she took a deep breath and she said, “So, Robby. It’s time for you to go in, but do you know where I can get a toothbrush? I seem to have forgotten to pack mine.”

  I was glad that she asked me for help and glad that we weren’t going to be sad anymore that night. I took her hand to take her inside and show her the storag
e closet where all the toothbrushes and stuff are for the kids who forget to bring their own. And for the Grownups too I guess but I didn’t know Grownups forgot stuff.

  She picked out a green one which is my favorite color and then she said, “This one is perfect. It looks just like the one I forgot at home. Good night, Robby, and thanks for your help. I’ll see you in the morning.” And then I don’t know why I did it but I hugged her before I ran to bed. She hugged me back too and it made me feel happy.

  Chapter 11

  Wednesday

  After a restless night’s sleep I awakened both cranky and sore, desperately in need of my morning run and a cup of strong coffee. A run would be nearly impossible on the mountain, so I settled instead for a brisk walk along the trails. Double-knotting the laces of my running shoes, I let myself quietly out the front door of the Lodge, locking it securely behind me. The children were still sleeping, and I could hear the faint murmuring of night staff as they tidied up and finished chart notes, readying things for shift change.

  The air was cool, still misty as the sun fought its way up into a pale sky, and I enjoyed the sharpness of it as I inhaled, crunching my way across the fallen leaves on my way to the trailhead. Living in L.A. as I did, it was easy to forget the simple pleasure of a lungful of clean air. As I entered the woods, I caught a glimpse of movement over towards my right, behind the storage shed, and turned to get a better look.

  Mr. Huffman, dressed in a red hunting jacket and khaki work pants, stood at the back of the shed, propping one hand against the rough logs, facing my direction. In his other hand dangled a pair of clippers. He was obviously getting an early start, making sure the trails were clear before whatever wilderness activities the staff had planned for the day got underway. In spite of that, I had the distinct impression he was watching me. Upon catching my glance he startled and threw a hand in the air in a quick wave before disappearing around the building. I stayed put for a moment, but he didn’t return.