Stranger on the Shore

by Carol Duncan Perry

  She'd talked with him by phone almost every day since they'd returned from Eureka Springs, although she had only seen him twice. It wasn't the same. She hadn't realized how much she'd come to depend on seeing him, seeing the sharp lines of his face soften when he smiled or his eyes lit up when they locked with hers.

  Sometimes it seemed the whole world was conspiring to keep them apart. First, she'd helped her grandmother can and freeze a bumper crop of beans, and then she'd nursed Jimmy Joe through a forty-eight hour virus. T.J. asked for her help with a sick foal. And today, when at last she'd found herself with nothing urgent to do, she couldn't find Jordan.

  He'd been out of town a lot lately, never saying specifically where he was going. However, the Mountain Springs grapevine was in good working order. During the last ten days he'd been reported in Fayetteville, in Rogers, and once, in Springdale. Only this morning Cousin Mabel called to gleefully tell her that she'd seen Jordan at the courthouse in Bentonville. Nosey as ever, Mabel had blatantly asked why.

  Sarah wouldn't have answered even if she'd known, but that didn't help matters much. She, too, wondered what he was doing. As far as she knew, he wasn't researching another story. He told her that he'd completed the Monte Ne article.

  Even as she tried to deny it, she knew what was eating at her. How much, if at all, would she be part of Jordan's future? They'd never discussed it, except for one offhand comment about finding a larger apartment in St. Louis. She knew he kept a small apartment there but rarely used it. She, on the other hand, was committed to St. Louis by a teaching contract for the next year. In fact, she had to return to St. Louis in a little over a month.

  While they were together in Eureka Springs, she'd had no doubts about their relationship. Most of the time they were at the cabin, oblivious to the rest of the world—so close that words had been unnecessary. Since then, they hadn't really had the opportunity to talk.

  Sarah allowed herself a long sigh. Considering the task ahead, today was probably going to be every bit as frustrating as the last ten days. She stepped off the path and into the clearing in front of her great aunt's cabin. She hadn't seen Aunt Cinda since the picnic, but T.J. had, and according to him, his grandmother was being as mysterious and contrary as ever.

  "Where's your young man?"

  Aunt Cinda's strong voice came rolling out the open door before Sarah reached the stone slab that served as a step to the cabin porch. She hadn't expected to surprise Aunt Cinda with her arrival, but neither had she expected that particular welcome.

  "I don't know," Sarah answered, pulling open the screen door to enter the cabin. Aunt Cinda was in her favorite rocking chair by the great stone hearth. For once, she's discarded her shawl. It was, however, within easy reach—draped across one arm of the chair. "How are you, Aunt Cinda? Today's a scorcher."

  "Don't try changin' the subject on me, Sarah Jane. Where's that Jordan fellow?"

  "He's out of town, I think."

  "Leastways you've stopped denying he's your fellow. That's progress of sorts, I guess," the old woman muttered.

  "Sarah forced a laugh and bent to kiss her aunt's wrinkled cheek. "You know I never argue with you. You've made up your mind Jordan's my fellow. I can't see how my denying it would change anything. Once you've decided—"

  "Ain't me who needs to be decidin'. He's your beau. If you want him, that is."

  "You approve?" Sarah asked, gently teasing.

  "Course I do. Everybody needs somebody. 'Specially folks like me 'n' you," Aunt Cinda said. "Difference is, nobody told me 'till it was too late. After Udall died, I thought I was supposed to go on by myself. So I'm telling you now, while there's still time."

  Aunt Cinda's voice softened. "It's up to you, child. I ain't one to be interfering with something this important. But I know you need someone of the forever kind—somebody besides a cranky old aunt. Think he'll do jus' fine."

  "I do like him," Sarah said softly.

  Aunt Cinda cackled. "You don't fool me, Sarah Jane. That ain't what we called it in my day."

  Sarah allowed herself a grin as she walked across the room to the sink against the far wall. "That's not what I came to talk about, Aunt Cinda." Using the dipper from the bucket of water sitting on the counter she primed the hand pump, then grasped the handle.

  "I reckon I know why you're here." Aunt Cinda gave an unladylike snort. "Pump me a glass of fresh water while you're at it," she added. "Tastes better that way. Sparkling cold, straight from the well. Can't get fresh water straight from the ground in the valley."

  "And you don't have to break the ice on the top of the bucket in the wintertime to prime the pump or pump it up a cup at a time," Sarah returned.

  Aunt Cinda sighed. "I know, child. I know. But you gotta admit there's nothing so good as a glass of fresh, cold well water on a hot day."

  Sarah's voice softened. "You're right. And today's one hot day." She carried two glasses back to the hearth and handed one to Aunt Cinda. Then holding her own glass sat down in the chair facing her aunt.

  "Things keep a-changing," Aunt Cinda said, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I remember when my daddy, that'd be your great-granddaddy, built this cabin right smack-dab on top of the well. Folks around here said he was 'tetched in the head.' But Pa said it was the newest way. He was right, too. Weren't too long 'till there was a lot of new rooms being built over wells. New cabins, too. Mama was so proud of her inside pump and of being the first one on the mountain with inside water. Bet there ain't a dozen hand pumps left in all of Benton County anymore. Now you just turn a spigot and out comes the water, Hot 'n' cold."

  "You'll find it's a real convenience," Sarah told her.

  "I reckon I will. Some days these old bones of mine could use a little convenience. I'm gonna miss this cabin, though. Lived here since I was six years old, I have. Gertie weren't even born yet. This place's been here the better part of a century. Most folks don't go on that long. Much less in one place. The roots are awful deep."

  Sarah patted her hand. "I know it'll be hard, Aunt Cinda. Especially at first. But things will work out."

  "I know that, child. Matter of fact, I'm looking forward to my new cabin. Done told you that."

  Sarah hesitated. "Aunt Cinda," she began reluctantly, "about that cabin..."

  "What about it?"

  "I can't find it. Neither can T.J. And time's running out."

  "Horse feathers. Got plenty of time. Sure don't feel like snow out there today. Done told you it'll be there when I need it."

  "But—"

  "But nothin'. You stop worryin', your head 'bout me and tend to your own self. I can still take care of my business. And don't you go thinkin' you gotta hover over me like an old broody hen, either. I was changing your diapers before you knew your own name. Can do it again, if need be. But I'd rather be diapering your babies. I can diaper babies, but I can't be making them. That's what you oughta be concernin' yourself with. Not this old lady."

  "Aunt Cinda!" Sarah's gasp was somewhere between shock and laughter.

  "Done told you, Sarah Jane. I weren't born yesterday. Don't need no special sight to know what you're about. It's about time, too, to my way of thinkin'. You can tell me it's none of my business if you want to. And you'd have the right of it. But I sure am interested, if you're inclined to talk. Guess you know, I kinda like that fellow."

  Smiling, Sarah leaned over and gave her aunt a hug. "If there was anything to tell, and I wanted to tell anyone, it would be you, Aunt Cinda. You know that. If it was all up to me—"

  "He don't feel the same way?"

  "I think he does, but I don't know for sure. Not if his feelings are the forever kind. He hasn't said, and I can't read his mind."

  "Have a little faith, Sarah Jane. Faith in yourself and in him, too. The good book says it's faith that'll move the mountains. Don't you be forgettin' it."

  "I'll remember, Aunt Cinda."

  "Good. Now pump me another glass of water. Then we can sit back and talk about other things
a while. I do get hungry for a good tittle-tattle now 'n' again. T.J.'s awful good 'bout lots of things, but sometimes a body needs more news than talk of sick horses and haying the south pasture."

  * * *

  When Sarah spotted T.J. coming out of the Co-op the next afternoon, she stopped on the steps of the post office and waited for him to catch up.

  "You do any good with Grandmother yesterday?" he asked without preamble.

  Sarah shook her head. "Not a lot. All she'll say is she knows her business. I tried, T.J. I told her neither of us could find the cabin she's talking about. She says it'll be here when she needs it. She does seem a little more resigned to moving though."

  "I guess we'll have to take that as a good sign. I don't know, Sarah. Maybe we should stop worrying about it. She's usually right.

  "I know," Sarah said, and laughed at the expression on her cousin's face. "If my not-worried look is anything like your not-worried look, neither of us would be able to fool a fly."

  T.J. gave her a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I know. But I can't think of anything else to do."

  "Let's give it a little more time," she suggested. "As Aunt Cinda said yesterday, it sure doesn't feel like snow's coming anytime soon. Maybe she's right and something will turn up."

  "Maybe," he said. "So what are you doing in town? "Where's Jordan? You're not by yourself, are you?"

  "I've got him stuffed in my hip pocket," Sarah said, exasperation creeping into her voice. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a big girl now. Been able to come to town all by myself for a long time."

  T.J. gave a disgusted snort. "I take it Jordan's not with you. Is anybody? Jimmy Joe or Aunt Gertie?" He fell silent when he saw the mutinous look on her face. "Dad-burn it, Sarah, you promised you'd be careful."

  "Don't you start that foolishness again."

  "Well, where is Jordan?"

  "Why do you want to know? Going to run and tattle?"

  "You can stop baiting me right now. You know we're trying to help," he said. "Besides, Sam's looking for him."

  "Sam? What's he want with Jordan?"

  "Don't ask me. And stop glaring. Nobody tells me anything. I'm just an innocent bystander."

  "Sure you are. You and Bobby McGee. It's probably that fool idea he has that Jordan pushed me into the bull pen."

  "Hey, I don't think that," T.J. protested. "Jordan seems like an all-right guy. All I know is Sam asked me if I'd seen him or knew where he was."

  "But you're as ready as he is to try running my business—you, Jordan and Sam."

  "Better watch it, Sarah love. You and 'your own business' is sounding more like Grandmother every minute.

  "Maybe she has a point," Sarah said as she turned away.

  "Hey, where're you off to now?"

  "I'm going to see Sam," she called over her shoulder, making a point to ignore the muttered "Oh, cripes!" that floated after her.

  As she entered his office, Sam looked up from his desk, a frown, rather than the smile he usually reserved for her, knitting his forehead.

  "Well, Sam, I can see you're real happy to see me?"

  "'Course I'm glad to see you," he said, giving her a weak smile. "You got some sheriffin' business for me, or just visitin'?"

  Sarah frowned. Something was wrong. Sam had never been able to fool her. "That depends," she told him. "T.J. said you were asking about Jordan."

  "Yeah." Sam hesitated a moment, then turned his look-innocent face toward her. "I just wanted to talk with him for a minute. Is he in town with you?"

  "No, he's not in town with me. I'm here all by myself." She gave him a speculative look. "What's this all about?"

  "Alone! Blast it, girl, I thought we agreed—"

  "You mean you, T.J. and Jordan agreed," Sarah retaliated. "I didn't. And I want to know what you want with Jordan. If it's about that foolishness—"

  "I'm not convinced it's foolishness. You shouldn't be either."

  "It's been two weeks since the rodeo, Sam. Not a thing unusual has happened."

  "That's probably because you've behaved yourself and stayed close. Most of the time, anyway".

  "But Jordan was your prime suspect, wasn't he? Or the Ewells?"

  "Yeah. One or the other."

  "So how's the Ewell clan these day?" she asked him with a feigned innocence.

  "Near as I can tell, they're doing fine. Most of the clan's livin' in California," Sam admitted grudgingly. "But things ain't always what they seem, missy. I'm not through checking yet."

  "And Jordan?" Sarah continued relentlessly. "You've found nothing there, either, have you, Sam? There's no deep, dark secret reason for Jordan to want to harm me, is there? If you'd found anything, I'm sure you'd have told me by now."

  Sam moved uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes shifting away from her.

  Sarah recognized his uneasiness. A flicker of apprehension gnawed at her insides. "You didn't find any reason to suspect Jordan. I know you didn't," she insisted, suddenly alarmed.

  "Calm down, Sarah. You're right. There's no reason to think he's the one," Sam said. "But I had to check it out."

  "Sounds to me like you might be changing your mind about him," Sarah said in a flood of relief. "Are you actually admitting you were wrong?"

  "Maybe," Sam conceded reluctantly. "He's got some persuasive supporters. A lot of people speak well of him. You've been seeing quite a bit of him, haven't you?"

  Sarah gave an exasperated sigh. "You know how much I've been seeing him. Far as I know, the community grapevine's in good working order."

  "You've got no reason to get huffy with me, young lady," Sam growled.

  Sarah stared wordlessly, her breath caught in her lungs. Sam had never used that tone of voice with her, not unless—"And you've got no reason to be evasive with me," she said, fighting the panic that was collecting in the back of her throat. "You're hiding something, Sam. I know that look. Your bluster isn't going to do you any good."

  She forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. "T.J. said you wanted to see Jordan. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that the reason you're trying to find him has nothing to do with me, I'll drop it. If you can't do that, then tell me why. I'm tired of everybody else thinking they know what's best for me."

  "Let it go, Sarah. Ain't no reason..."

  Anxiety knotted her stomach when he refused to look up. Now she was sure he was hiding something. "No, Sam," she said. "There's something you don't think I should know about. Neither you nor anyone else can make decisions for me. You, of all people, know that. Your idea that I shouldn't be told is enough to convince me I should. Just because you feel guilty for not trusting Jordan at first—"

  "I never said that."

  "You didn't have to..."

  "Well, I've admitted I could have been wrong. T.J. likes him, and he's usually a good judge of character. So is the rest of your family, and Hoyston says—"

  "Hoyston?" Something about Sam's explanation didn't sound right. Sarah clenched her fist until her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. She tried to hang on to the last shreds of her control. "What's going on? Does Hoyston know Jordan? What does Hoyston have to do with him?"

  Sam gave a deep sigh. "Hoyston's my St. Louis contact, Sarah. You know that. And Matthias claims to be from St. Louis. It's just natural I'd check Matthias out through him."

  "Right now, Sam. Tell me what's going on right this minute."

  "Oh, hell! Look, Sarah, let me talk to Matthias first. Maybe there's nothing to—"

  "You can't shield me, Sam," she said, defeat in every word she spoke. "In the end it always makes it worse. You know it does."

  Sam's shoulders sagged. The movement spoke eloquently of resignation. With an audible sigh, he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and handed Sarah a file folder.

  Sarah looked from Sam to the folder in her hands. Hardly daring to breathe, she laid the folder on the desk in front of her and lifted the cover.

  Photocopies? Newspaper clippings? With numb fingers she shifted
through the pile. The headlines, in bold black letters, silently screamed at her: Madam Savannah Exposed as Fraud; Wall Street Psychic's Insider Source Named; Faith Healer Charged in Boy's Death.

  There were others, copies of old clipping dating back almost a decade. The words in the headlines swam crazily before her eyes. As her frozen fingers shifted through the flimsy pieces of paper she could focus on only one line of type common to each—the centered words beneath each headline: By Jordan D. Matthias.

  Her hands shook as she closed the folder. She fought to control the moisture in her eyes and raised her eyes to Sam. "Hoyston sent you these."

  "No, he didn't. He knows Matthias," Sam admitted. "Calls him a friend and a straight shooter. But Hoyston wasn't the only source I checked."

  "Jordan is a, what would you call it, a psychic buster?" Her voice trembled.

  "Those are all fraud stories, Sarah." Sam's voice was unusually gruff. "It doesn't mean—that's why I wanted to talk to him first. He's got a good reputation. Always makes sure of his facts. Doesn't take anybody's word. Investigates them himself..." Sam's voice trailed off, as if he realized his explanations was only making everything worse.

  Sarah gripped the top of the desk for support and slowly pushed herself to her feet. "I know what it means, Sam." She choked back a sob. "This time I should have listened to you."

  "Now, Sarah, talk to him first. Maybe..."

  "I'll talk to him," she said. "I have to, don't I? But there's really not much he can say."

  "I'll admit, it looks like that's what he came here for. But, Sarah, he might have changed his mind."

  "Then why didn't he tell me?" She started toward the door, then turned back to the desk and picked up the folder. "Do you know something, Sam?" She stopped, holding her eyes wide and blinking to control the unshed tears. She hugged the folder to her, finally focusing on one inconsequential detail. "I didn't know he had a middle name. I wonder what the D stands for? Deceit?" She gave a brittle laugh and slipped quickly out of the office.

  Chapter 14

  Sarah fought a wave of nausea, paying no notice to the furnace-like heat inside her closed vehicle. She was cold, so cold. She leaned her head against the steering wheel, gulping in deep breaths of hot air, realizing only then that she had entombed herself in the closed car. Her fingers fumbled as she opened the window next to her. Then she reached for the passenger side. The folder slid off the seat, scattering the clippings onto the floorboard.