Saying the words made him smile.
A wife.
"Stop being a cheddar head, Paul, you haven't even had a conversation with the woman yet," he admonished himself. He also double scolded himself for checking his appearance in the mirror since their first interaction would be via a phone call; not even the visual type. Nevertheless, he found himself checking his teeth and even blowing his breath into his hand to check for tartness.
"Idiot, it's a phone call," he scolded again.
It's still a first date. A man always wants to make a good first impression on a first date.
Dressed in his favorite blue plaid shirt and a well-worn pair of Levi's that clung to everything the good Lord had blessed him with, he squared his shoulders then picked up the cell phone. At six feet tall, weighing in at a solid 185 pounds, no fat could be found on his body. Strong, muscular legs from years of playing rugby filled in the jeans with a sense of purpose as he moved towards a potential new future. The phone call had a purpose. He had a purpose. His wife would also serve a purpose.
He dialed the number. A small bead of sweat formed on his forehead, rolling down the side of his temple as he waited impatiently for her to answer. If it went past five rings he would hang up. It only went to three.
"Kalinda Marsh," the sweet voice said on the other end.
"Good morning, this is Paul Darton," he said with a cocky confidence that was waning with every minute.
"Hello, Mr. Darton," Kalinda responded.
"Please, call me Paul," he said, holding the phone and listening to hear the sound of her breathing.
"Paul it is. So, tell me, Paul, why are you advertising for a wife on the Internet?"
"So, tell me, Kalinda, why you are responding?"
"My question first, then I will answer yours," she said.
"Fair enough," he added.
For the next ten minutes he told her about the Darton land, Wide Open Spaces, the hiking trails, and his vision. She said nothing as she listened to the passion in his voice, smiling although he couldn't see her, while feeling the tug of a memory from once believing in something bigger than herself.
"Why is this so important for you to create, Paul?"
"I want to give something back to the world, or rather share something that we forget exists. That natural beauty of an unspoiled land. The pure feeling of freedom of being out in the open, experiencing nature as it is meant to be seen," he said softly, the timber of his voice speaking something he was not saying.
"Tell me of the wrong you wish you to right, Paul," she encouraged him.
"How do you know that?"
"You were not hard to research. Your family is like Oregon royalty, yet you live in a town of two hundred people serving as the postmaster to deliver packages and mail to people few even know are a part of the world," Kalinda said.
"...And you, Kalinda Marsh, live your life on the Internet snapping selfies of every moment to share with the world as if you found the secret to living life better than anyone else," he added.
"Well, aren't we the pair," she said gently to him.
It was the way she said “we” that sent a shot of adrenalin directly to his pants. The sexual attraction based on her voice was a plus, but he needed her to understand what he was truly looking to build.
"Kalinda, the region in that I live is an old growth forest, meaning it has been here for hundreds of years. It is dense in some areas where fallen trees under the canopy have given the area an understory. These trees are not easily replaced if they are cut down. Deforestation can ruin the diversity of the plant and animal life. I am trying to protect it. I want this area to be cared for by my children and my children's children," he told her.
"But you already own the land, don't you?"
“No, my family owns the land. I own 2,000 acres that I have built two natural trails through. I have two tiny houses and two campsites thus far. On the weekends, there are small groups of people who come up to hike the two trails and rent the spaces. I want to do more in the area, but I am not internet savvy," he said to Kalinda.
"I think I am understanding what you are trying to do, but let me say what I think you are telling me, then you let me know if I am right on or not, okay?"
"Okay."
She looked over the notes she had printed on his family and the region. She had researched the Indian population, the statistics, and the number of people who had recently began traveling to the area for weekend getaways. Softly, she exhaled into the phone.
The soft exhalation sent goosebumps up his arms and down his back.
"Thus far, Paul, on the weekend, there are four to six people who venture up to where you are and rent out one of your tiny houses. They hike the trail then come back to the tiny house or campsite for the night. The next morning, do they hike the next trail?"
"Pretty much," he said.
"After your weekenders hike the two trails, do they earn a badge or something that states I completed the bunny slope at Imnaha?" Kalinda asked.
“That would be cool, but I don't have that," he said.
"Is there a marshmallow roast around the campfire at the end of the first night to share war stories about wildlife and game that was spotted on the trail?"
"No, I didn't think of that," he said.
"How long is the trail and how many hours does it take the normal human to hike each one?" she asked.
"The two I currently have are 12.5 miles each that take at least five and a half hours to navigate in good weather at a steady pace," he said.
"The spacing of the tiny houses.... how far apart are those?"
"Each one is two miles apart to give the weekenders space and the feeling of being out in nature away from it all," he said.
"Paul," she said into the line.
“Yes, Kalinda," he said adding a richness to his voice that sent butterflies to her midsection.
"I am uncertain if you want a wife or a marketing manager," she said to him.
"I want both, Kalinda. I know how to do a few things really well, like explain the need to protect wilderness areas. I know how to train others to care for the land and enjoy the beauty of the great outdoors, but I don't know how to tweet, blog, or post live videos of adventures. I firmly believe the weekenders should have action shots of coming down the trail or rafting on the river, yes, they need those things, but I can't keep them safe and run the office at the same time. I am not asking for a lot, Kalinda," he said.
"Is that all you want, Paul?"
"No, it's not. I would also like some hot sex twice a week, and meat and potatoes on Wednesday would be really nice," he said, chuckling at this own boldness. She made him feel confident. He liked that.
"You make it sound so simple," she said to him.
"Life is simple. It is those around you who complicate it with their bullshit. I find I am the happiest when I am away from people, especially my family," he said. "I want to start my own family who has the same values I do and who believe in what I believe."
"Paul, I am not a believer yet, but I need to get the hell away from those who are complicating my life," she said.
"...And marrying a complete stranger who lives in the middle of nowhere is your solution to uncomplicating your existence?" he wanted to know.
"My existence isn't real, Paul. It is something I created to convince those around me that I was a person of consequence with an opinion that mattered. I wanted to be someone. Therefore, I created the someone I wanted to be and now the inmate is taking over the asylum. I need a fresh start. I need to build a new dream," she told him.
"Have you ever hiked an open trail?"
"I have never even caught a fish," she said to him.
"Kalinda, my life is pretty remote. I have indoor plumbing with an outdoor bathtub, two bedrooms, one that serves as the office and for my day job. I am a postman to an area that very seldom gets much mail," he said.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay, what?"
"First things f
irst...you will need another little tiny house close to the cabin to serve as the office and storage of equipment. That second bedroom will be living space for something we both enjoy," she told him.
His voice rose two octaves when he asked, "You are agreeing to this...you are agreeing to marry me?"
"Technically, you haven't asked me," Kalinda said.
"Are you sure?"
"No! Hell no, I am not sure. I am scared out of my mind, but I am not marrying you tomorrow. We are going to spend some time getting to know each other," she said.
"Actually no, I am out of time. There is a big shindig next month honoring my asshole of a brother in Portland. I would love to start our life then. You fly out, I take you for a nice dinner, we get married the next morning, attend the gala that night, and then we head out to our home. I have lots of people coming every weekend in June, July, August, and September," he said.
"Oh," she said.
"I also have four more tiny cabins arriving in the next few weeks, but since I have to now turn one of those into our new office, I have to have one more built," he said.
The thing that caught Kalinda's attention and held it was that Paul listened to her request and was going to honor her suggestion to create a new office. He was listening to her. She hadn't had that in a very long time.
What are you doing, Kalinda?
What the hell are you doing?
"Kalinda?"
“I'm here, Paul," she said tentatively.
"What do you need from me?"
"I don't know what to ask you for in this situation," she said to him.
A gentle breeze blew through the window, tufting the hair on his head like a mental suggestion to be better. Random ideas entered the gray matter rolling back out of his subconscious like ripping waves as he held the phone, listening to a woman he had never met, but wanted in his life more than he had ever wanted anything.
"Kalinda, each day I will give you my undivided attention. I will listen without judgment when I hear your words and I shall take care of your heart. I will never raise my hand nor my voice to you, with or without provocation. I will tend your needs like a constant gardener ensuring that our marriage will be something you will not regret. In these words, is my desire that you will find the merit to trust me and in time learn to love me as I pray I will do the same," he said to her.
"Well, damn," she said into the line. "Did you practice that or you just made it up?"
"It is not practiced, but words from my heart. I am pretty transparent. I have no hidden agendas. I want to build something great with a woman who wants to help build something great as well," he said.
"What is the catch?"
"There is no catch. It is remote, so you will spend a lot of time with me as your man," he said with a grin in the line.
"With you as my man?"
"Yep. I'm going to be your big strong man that is going to go out and hunt and fish and bring home dinner on a string," he said.
A soft laughter of her voice crept through the phone line. Paul's pants grew tight as he grasped the phone tighter. Damn, she is affecting me just through the phone .
"Kalinda, you are going to have to tell me what you are running from," he said to her.
"Some days I don't know myself," she said to him.
"I will be your port in the storm if you are willing to be mine," he said to her.
"I am willing," Kalinda said.
Paul inhaled sharply. This was the moment. This was it. He had himself a wife.
"Kalinda Marsh, will you do me the great honor of marrying me and being my wife, my business partner, my lover, and my best friend?"
"Your lover?"
"Yeah, twice a week, with meat and potatoes on Wednesday," he said with a chuckle. "If you can combine both, Paul will be a happy man."
"Yes," she said in the line. “I will make Paul a happy man.”
His breathing stopped.
"Paul?"
"I stopped breathing for a minute there," he said.
"You can start breathing again," she told him.
"Next month?"
"Next month, I will arrive in Portland to marry you," she said to him.
"Can I call you often?"
"You can call me every day if you like," she said.
"I am willing to fly out and meet you in person before next month if you would like, you know, so it is not so awkward," he said.
"What fun would that be?" She asked with a smile. "See you next month."
"Next month," he said and clicked off the line.
Holy shit! I am getting married . Shaking hands picked up the three photos of Kalinda Marsh that sat on the junky desk that was cluttered with too many wayward, homeless ideas. Ideas that would also be married to Kalinda Marsh and given a place to reside. Kalinda Darton. I like that . She was a good-looking woman with soulful brown eyes, a tight smile, and an intensity that said she meant business. Three days after her response to the email, he'd contracted an associate to do some research. Paul knew why she was running. He would wait for her to tell him personally.
Across the country in Georgia, Kalinda Marsh held the photos of one Paul Darton in her hands. It had taken her three months to get up the nerve to respond to the message he posted on the board. Even once she'd composed the message, it still took all day to muster the courage to click the send button.
"Change is inevitable, Kalinda. You need change," she mumbled as she rose slowly to seal another box to go to the storage unit. "I'm packing up the old life to once again start a new one."
Chapter 3
"M ary Jane Marshall, what have you gotten yourself into, child?" Annie Marshall called from the Victorian back porch of the Lancaster House.
"She pushed me. Connie Lancaster pushed me and broke my knee!" Mary Jane screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Stand up gal, and get yourself over here, carrying on like a Jackin’ Tom Fool about to get me fired," Annie whispered.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Mary Jane whelped. "Connie pushed me down. My knee is all broken and bloody!"
"Mary Jane, I swear child, you are forever exaggerating," Annie told her. Aching joints carried the lumbering body of thirty-two-year-old woman that felt more like the remnants of a 70-year-old. The early onset of rheumatoid arthritis was taking a toll on Annie.
"But Mama, there's bits and pieces of gravel in it and everything," Mary Jane protested. Her complaints fell on deaf ears. Annie Marshall never took into consideration the talent of her young daughter's ability to tell stories. By all accounts, as far as Annie could remember, from the moment Mary Jane began to speak, she was making up stories. Each one was grander than the last one.
"That's what she gets for lying," Connie Lancaster said to their housekeeper, Ms. Annie. "I have told Mary Jane about always making up stories. Some of them just aren't plain nice."
"I understand, Ms. Connie. I will take care of it, but I am going to talk to your Mama about you pushing my baby around," Annie said with an expression of disapproval on her face.
"That's fine, Ms. Annie. If you do that, I am going to have to tell my Mama that Mary Jane keeps saying that my Daddy is also her Daddy," Connie said. "She keeps saying you are only pretending to clean our house so my Daddy can get to you for loving when he wants you."
Annie dropped the cleaning rags in her hand, coming off the porch at full speed after her daughter. Mary Jane was on her feet and running towards the rear of the Lancaster House as fast as her legs could carry her. Her Mama was right. Her knee wasn't broken. Neither would she allow her spirit to be either.
Mary Jane Marshall had a plan. At thirteen years old, the small southern town of Bainbridge, Georgia was too small to hold her or her dream. The tiny minds that lived in the town didn't understand having a vision. She did. At fifteen years old, under the bleachers at the high school, Rodney Masterson wanted to get into her pants. This was not going to happen because Mary Jane, after several attempts to have an elevated conversation with Rodney, came to the hars
h conclusion that he, too, had a tiny mind. His biggest ambition was to play football for the Bainbridge Bears, then get a job at the local wholesale club as a manager in the auto section. Rodney Masterson wasn't getting into her pants or anything else. Mary Jane did what she knew best – she made up a story of why it would never work out between them.
On her sixteenth birthday, Mary Jane arrived home from school early to find none other than Connie Lancaster's father coming out of her Mama's bedroom at two in the afternoon.
"Mr. Lancaster," Mary Jane said.
"Mary Jane," he responded. "You do know to keep this quiet, don't you?"
"I am very good at keeping secrets, Mr. Lancaster, especially how I managed to get my tuition paid for college at Georgia State, especially considering my Mama is as poor as a church mouse," she said to the stodgy red-faced Southern gentility.
"Are you blackmailing me, child?"
"Are you my Daddy?"
Hurley Lancaster turned beet red from the collar of the white shirt stuffed into his seersucker suit all the way up to his sparse blond hair. "You are a smart girl, Mary Jane. What do you think?"
"Don't pretend to be all indignant and self-righteous now, Mr. Lancaster. You have been the only man in my Mama's room all of my life. If you thought I was sleeping for the past fourteen years when you have been tipping in and slipping out, you are wrong. I deserve the same chances in life as your other daughter. Understandably, you will never walk me down the aisle at my wedding, but at least give me a chance at a better life. I want to go to college and be a reporter," she told him.
A crisp white handkerchief came out of his jacket pocket as he blotted his reddened forehead. His eyes focused in on his daughter created out of wedlock with another woman. She was a trouble-making spitfire of a young lady. A true catch that many of the boys in town tried to claim as their own. Mary Jane Marshall was not having any part of it. This made him proud.
"You want to go to Georgia State?"
"Yes, Sir. I want to be a journalist. I am a natural storyteller," she said with her shoulders squared.
"Okay then," Hurley said to her. "I will get to the bank in the morning and make it happen."
Oregon Trails Page 2
