Savage Cinderella

by PJ Sharon

  She might have to read all the books in the world before she would understand men. She tossed a length of soft pine out into midair and watched it fall into the abyss. The sun’s rays splashed through the trees and warmed her skin. It was a soothing, hypnotic sensation. She arched her face toward the source of the heat, drinking up as much as she could. She smiled with a sense of pride in how far she’d come.

  Once a normal little girl who went to school, she recalled how she excelled, earning stars on her reading and writing papers that her mother hung on the refrigerator. But that was before...a shiver ran along her skin. Goose bumps raised the hair on her arms. Shaking off memories of pain and fear, she grabbed hold of the one good thing about that time—the months after she’d been taken and before she had been left in the mountains. During that awful time in captivity, books had been her only company and likely had been her salvation. The man had made sure she had something to occupy her and keep her quiet once she’d finished her chores and returned to the seclusion of her tiny room.

  Later, when she found the cabin high up in the forest, she was certain that an angel had led her there. The sparse furnishings left much to be desired, but the shelter was a welcomed freedom, and the old books she found there had saved her life. It took many tries to start a fire with the flint and steel the previous owner had left behind. She was lucky to have the yellowed pages of a Boy Scout survival guide that outlined fire building, edible plants and roots, basic first aid and the making of crude tools. What words she couldn’t understand, she figured out through pictures and practice. Once she met Abby, who coached her in more advanced reading skills, her hunger for books blossomed.

  She hadn’t read them all, but she cherished every book she acquired. Eventually, she amassed an entire set of encyclopedias—accompanied by Mr. Webster’s Dictionary.

  She kept a worn Bible with gold trim, which she admittedly looked at only for the pictures. Some of the stories were too frightening and the messages difficult to understand. Man’s interpretation of life, death, and spirit seemed to be plainly lacking.

  All she needed to know about God and angels she learned from the forest. The Devil—him she knew firsthand. So she avoided books that talked about such things. She preferred romantic classics and books about nature and science. And her favorite book, The Diary of Anne Frank.

  Like Anne, Brinn had learned to be self-sufficient in her own way. She found, in Anne, a kindred spirit. But she was reminded of her relentless loneliness by reading of Anne’s stories about her family. Whenever she thought of her own family, the magnitude of her grief and loss dragged her into such despair that she thought she might die from the desolation. But each day, the sun rose, life in the forest continued, and she went on.

  Since the man had taken her and promised he’d always find and punish her, there was no place where she felt safe except in the mountains. She wondered if the trade-off of being free to roam the vast forests was worth her loss and isolation. But her parents were dead, no one would ever want her after the bad things she’d done, and at least she was safe here. A home and a family would have to remain a distant dream.

  At the same time, she imagined traveling the world, exploring all the wondrous places she visited through her books. She longed to stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon, or see the Colosseum in Rome, or the Eiffel Tower in Paris. The thought of leaving the mountains brought a familiar spike of apprehension. She sighed and let it go. It didn’t matter; she’d probably never find the courage to go very far, anyway. Lately though, her thoughts of leaving the mountains were growing in frequency and intensity. Wasn’t she old enough and strong enough now to face her fears? She shook her head, dismissing the idea.

  She bent to pluck some wild strawberries out of the brambles, already picked over by the local flock of wood thrushes that nested in the nearby hedge of holly and laurel. She tucked a handful into the small leather pouch along with the Juneberries. She licked her fingers and then wiped her sticky hand on her pants.

  A sturdy length of hickory lay just off the path and Brinn stepped around the patch of nettles to retrieve it. She held the stick to the top of her shoulder, judged its height accordingly, and broke the connecting branches to create a V at the top that should just fit under Justin's arm.

  Justin. His name had a nice sound to it. “Just him,” a tiny voice in her head said. Brinn felt a smile creep across her face, widening bigger and bigger. It had been some time since she’d heard the Angel of the Forest speak to her. The voice only came when she needed direction. Although she hadn’t seen an actual angel, she knew from the beginning that she was never truly alone. Her survival was proof of that. And the angel had told her that someone would come—someone good—someone who would help her.

  Was it a sign from her angel? Could She have sent Justin? God knows, in those early days, she’d prayed often enough for someone to rescue her. Was he an answer to her long-forgotten prayer? A warm sensation of joy swam through her chest. The sun shone brightly and the birds and beetles hummed in the air. The common sounds that usually hovered in the background made her feel especially hopeful today.

  She took another moment to soak up the morning sunshine. Before she had the opportunity to enjoy the moment, terrified shrieks sounded from the direction of the cabin. A stab of fear stole her smile, and a tight fist wrapped around her insides.

  Chapter 5

  Kitty

  After the girl tossed him his pants and stood piercing him with a predatory expression before she abruptly left him alone with his pickle jar, Justin wondered how he should approach the situation. He had no doubt that she had been through something terrible. Her obvious mistrust was probably warranted, given the circumstances of her living out here all alone. At least he thought she was all alone.

  She hadn't answered any of his questions to his satisfaction. She was a mystery that his inner journalist could not resist. The urge to unravel Brinn’s story compelled him to want to know everything about her. If she truly was alone, he had to find a way to help her. This was certainly no life for a girl—young woman—he mentally corrected. He judged her age to be in her late teens or early twenties. It was hard to tell beyond the sprite-like features and the look of weary wisdom in her eyes.

  Despite the wild tangle of her long black hair, and the obvious lack of attention to the female grooming details he was used to seeing on girls her age, she was absolutely beautiful. She possessed an essence, raw and savagely striking. Those dark-lashed blue eyes that turned up at the corners like some exotic cat shone like sapphires, flashing to blue flames when she was scared or angry. Her long limbs fit her sleek body perfectly.

  Justin caught himself thinking in an impossible direction and shifted his attention to his own discomfort. He ignored his full bladder and attempted to wiggle his foot. The pain and stiffness in his ankle distracted him as he grunted a few expletives and tested his weight-bearing capabilities. The splint she’d manufactured was ideal. He could point and flex his foot marginally, but the flat sticks, padded and strapped onto either side of his ankle, offered lateral stability. To his happy surprise, after a few failed attempts, he stood with partial weight on his foot.

  After relieving himself, he awkwardly pulled on his pants and buttoned the top button. His shirt hung on the chair across the room by the fire. Should he hop over and get it? Every muscle in his body dreaded the movement. He flinched at the thought, his aching head and throbbing foot leading the revolt. He still felt groggy from whatever was in that nasty-tasting concoction she’d given him last night. He had to admit that he had slept soundly, much to his surprise.

  He sucked in a breath and prepared for the pain of jolting his foot, then hobbled and hopped across the eight-foot span. Nearly knocking over the chair as he flopped into it, he toppled a stack of books behind him. As he righted the mess, he scanned the stack. Botany, native plants, herbal medicine, some old Natural Health and Field and Stream magazines, and two sketch pads bound in the same leather straps she
had used to tie him to the bed.

  He shook his head, frustrated by the abundance of unanswered questions. Who was she so afraid of? Had he stumbled into a situation that could prove dangerous? He glanced at the red and purple around his ankle and realized that his precarious circumstances remained beyond his control. He was stuck here and that was that.

  As much as he hated to admit it, his boss had been right. Charlene Kensington was Managing Editor for Real Life Magazine. She had sent him on assignment to the National Parks before, but she always warned him to stay on trails and avoid hiking alone. She’d accused him of taking unnecessary risks. Charlene suggested more than once that she tag along to make sure he stayed out of trouble, but he knew it was just an excuse to get him alone.

  They’d had a relationship two years ago, before he’d taken the job with the magazine. He was fresh out of college then, but once they’d started working together, he ended it. He knew better than to date a coworker, let alone his boss. Charlene didn't agree and made her feelings known. So far, he’d managed to keep out of her clutches. She’d be frantic when he didn’t return on Monday morning and he was certain she would have half of Georgia looking for him. But for now, he was stranded.

  A smile caught his lips as he thought of Brinn and decided that a few days in her company might not be such a bad thing. She fascinated him. There was a story to be told, and he wasn’t one to walk away from a good story. A spark of excitement snapped like a picture in his mind, an image of the girl on next week’s magazine cover. He wondered about his camera. Without pictures, the story wouldn’t fly.

  He eyed the sketch pads again. The nosy reporter got the better of him as he reached for one. He looked over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t returned. He opened the sketch pad and leafed through drawings. Some were in pencil, others in charcoal. They were beautiful...and haunting. He flipped through pictures of small animals, birds, and butterflies, the details etched with precision, every angle and shadow drawn perfectly. So, my wild child is an artist, he mused, feeling a twinge of guilt for invading her privacy. Some of the pictures portrayed an element of darkness that drew images of fear to the surface: shadowed figures with no faces, trees looming overhead with branches like talons.

  When he opened the second sketch pad, Justin stopped and stared. Before him was a perfect self-portrait of Brinn staring down into the still water of a lily pond. The water reflected her wide eyes. The soulful expression on her face nearly broke his heart. Her long dark hair created a tunnel of shadows that framed her reflection, emphasizing the loneliness and heart-wrenching sadness that permeated the drawing. But there was a spark of something else in her eyes, a firm set to her chin. Determination? Strength? He had an overwhelming compulsion to tear the page out and fold it into his pocket.

  Justin's head popped up from the picture at the sound of a loud thump from outside, as if a heavy object had just been dropped. Setting the book aside, he stood and hobbled to the door. Maybe Brinn was back and needed help with something too big for her to handle. He swung the door open and gasped. A huge bear loomed above him on hind legs.

  Obviously as surprised as Justin, the bear reared back a step. Justin staggered, stunned by the proximity and size of the bear. Forgetting about his foot, he howled in pain as he stumbled backwards and crashed to the floor with a shuddering thud. His head exploded with renewed pain.

  The bear charged him and pounced. Justin screamed. The blow crushed him as if someone had dropped a boulder on his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. The hot rancid breath of the mauling bear bore down on his face, its jagged fangs gleaming as it snarled.

  Justin thrashed helplessly and quickly realized that escape was impossible. The creature pinned him to the floor with the force of its enormous weight. But despite its efforts to keep him pinned, the bear wasn’t actually mauling him. More accurately, it was wrestling him. It grunted, sniffed, and slobbered, but so far, he'd only felt the pressure of the large claws. He threw an arm up to block his face, expecting to feel the rip and tear of flesh or teeth clamped onto his arm. He waited for the pain, but none came. He continued to holler as the bear licked his face and slobbered between grunts. An acrid animal scent permeated the air around him, stifling his breath.

  Then, a high-pitched whistle followed by a lyrical chant of unfamiliar words brought the bear to a halt. As the furry, four-legged creature stepped off his chest, Justin took in a huge breath, the relief instantaneous. The bear must have weighed four hundred pounds. Brinn stood in the doorway, laughing hysterically as the beast passed by her at a trot. With her hands over her mouth, she grinned down at Justin’s supine figure as he panted heavily on the floor.

  His heart pounded furiously. Sweat—or bear slobber—coated his face. Justin gaped at the wild abandon in which Brinn laughed, her lips stained a deep blue. Regaining his composure, he asked dryly, "Is that a friend of yours?"

  She bent over in a fit of giggles. Holding her sides, she sputtered. "You should have seen your...you looked like...I've never seen anything so..."

  After a moment, she pulled herself together. She stood upright and crossed the room to help him off the floor, clearly still wanting to snicker. No more than five feet, seven inches tall, but stronger than she looked, Brinn squatted and lifted him under his arms. She wrapped her fists tight around his chest, then stood and raised him from the floor with assistance from his good left leg.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked. Once he was standing, she reached over and grabbed the makeshift crutch and tucked it under his left arm.

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t seem to want to hurt me.”

  “She is a good judge of character.” Brinn looked up at him cautiously. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her left arm firmly around his waist, tucked her head and shoulder under his right arm, and helped him hobble neatly over to the bed. She spun him around to help him sit and they both crashed onto the bed sideways as Brinn lost control of Justin's large frame. The bed squeaked in protest with the strain. Having landed facing each other, the two broke into laughter—both quickly coming to their senses and left with nothing to do but look at each other from inches apart.

  Justin remained very still. He didn't want to frighten her but he had an overwhelming urge to wipe a smudge of dirt from her cheek and touch her stained lips. “Your lips are blue—kind of purple, really.”

  She touched her lips, her brows furrowed in question, and then she smiled shyly. “Juneberries—I brought you some.” Silence spread through the cabin as they looked at each other intently. Finally, she reached out and gently rubbed her palm over his face, exploring the rough stubble on his jaw. Examining the two-day beard growth as if it were something foreign and offensive, she let her eyes drift back to his. A determined expression took over her face. "I have something that will take the needles off." She moved to get up.

  “Wait.” With no reason or thought other than to keep her close, Justin reached for her hand and captured it before she could escape. She swung her fist around and cuffed him on the ear. Stunned and momentarily deaf, he released her and fell back on the bed, grabbing the side of his head. "Ow! What did you do that for?” Unintended anger infused his tone, his head pounding with renewed vigor from her assault.

  Brinn retreated several steps and then stood glaring, wide-eyed, a mixture of fear, anger and confusion on her face. She shook her hand, clenching and unclenching her fist, and paced back and forth. She kept one hand on the hilt of the six-inch buck knife strapped to her side, and eyed him with irritation. "Do not try to take me like that again."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't understand...before. I do now." Justin sat up on the edge of the bed, still rubbing the offended ear. Someone had hurt her on a level far deeper than he imagined. "I won't touch you again if you don’t want me to, okay?" He held up his hands in a sign of truce. Her pace slowed and her hands relaxed. He let out a slow breath. "Would you like to tell me about the bear?"

  Her chin lifted in defiant control. "She was abandon
ed as a cub. When I found her in the high meadow, she was hungry and alone. I took her in. At first, I had to hike for half a day to get milk from a farmer’s goat for her. Eventually, she learned to forage for herself. Then, one day she returned to the forest and found a mate." Her cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat. “I saved her life and she has been my friend ever since. We take care of each other. She’s welcome to come here when she wants.” She added sheepishly, “I call her Kitty.”

  The expression of loyalty and seriousness on her face forced a smile to his lips. She was completely unaware of how ridiculous and adorable she looked. Standing there blue-lipped in her tattered cargo pants, worn hiking boots, and a grubby tank top, she looked the picture of a savage Cinderella—one whose only companion was a bear.

  Sometime during the night she must have changed her clothing. The tank top hung loosely at her neck and arms, revealing more of her body than Justin could ignore. The golden glow of her tanned shoulders and the rounded edge of her breast captured his eye, sending a jolt from his heart to his gut.

  What was he going to do about her? A wild girl in the wilderness of the Blue Ridge Mountains, surviving here for only God knew how long, with a bear named Kitty. This would make one hell of a story.

  Given the stubborn and guarded frown that covered her face, interviewing his subject might prove challenging. His lip twitched as he suppressed a smile. He’d never backed down from a challenge before. He wasn’t about to start now.

  Chapter 6

  Cleanliness is Next to Godliness