Whispers of the Heart

by Stephanie Wilson

  "Oh, Marie, you should know better than that," T.J. stated while resting his powerful arms on Erika's open window frame. "These bears are the smartest animals alive. They will forever remember your scent. There is no need for you to be nervous. You've spent a lot of time here, remember?"

  T.J.'s smile positively gleamed as he gazed at her horrified expression and wondered how long it would take her to come forward with the truth. He hoped it was soon.

  His cryptic humor finally invaded Erika's frozen reflexes. He knows, she thought. He knows I've never been here before. It was a preposterous story. No animal remembers a scent forever!

  "Okay," she confessed through clenched teeth. "I'm not that ignorant! I have come here for a private vacation. I've never been on my friend's property before, so I had no way of knowing what to expect. Are you satisfied? You know the whole story now. What are you really, a reporter?" she questioned sarcastically while sidestepping his helpful hand.

  "Would it make a difference if I was?" T.J. asked seriously.

  Erika's skin began to crawl in a peculiar way. It was warm and exciting and totally unwelcome!

  "Why should I care how you earn your ... living, if in fact you do," she retorted.

  T.J.'s eyes became stone cold as he unloaded her luggage, handing her one of the lighter pieces. Well, he muttered to himself, at least she's on the right track. A shred of truth is better than no truth.

  "Just set them down in front of the door. I'll bring them in," Erika retorted coldly.

  T.J.'s long muscled legs quickly covered the distance to the front door. Without thinking to cover a habitual habit, he reached down and located the key under the front door mat.

  Astonished and alarmed that he had known where the key was, a faint warning surfaced into the corner of her mind.

  "Uh, excuse me," she said while abruptly retrieving the key, "just how did you know where to find that key?"

  Immediately recognizing his error, T.J. flippantly explained, "Oh, just a lucky guess. Everyone at the lake keeps an extra set of keys under the mat. It's North Idaho hospitality. Well," he amended, "Priest Lake hospitality."

  T.J. hoped his lie wasn't too easy to uncover. It sounded pretty lame to him.

  Well, Erika muttered to herself, that is one tradition that has just died on this doorstep. She made a mental note to find another hiding place far away from her front door.

  After ignoring her wishes again and carrying her luggage inside, T.J. abruptly asked Erika if she would like a fire built to ward off the moist chill. She declined, proudly announcing that she knew how to build one. He didn't remind her of her promise to pay for the transportation and she forgot to ask.

  The seemingly insignificant warmth and security Erika had gleaned from T.J.'s presence was unsettlingly noticeable when the cottage door slammed behind him. It’s just the bear, and the dark, and the fog, and the plane ride, and ... and ...

  Small hot tears began rolling down her cheeks. Abruptly she wiped them away as they fell. Soon, it was an exercise in futility. They were coming too fast. Taking a deep sputtering breath, Erika filled her lungs and slowly exhaled.

  I will not do this, she said sternly. It’s all that Tim's fault. He makes my nerves raw. And this fog, it makes everything seem so ... dingy, and remote and lonesome ... STOP, she commanded. This was exactly what I wanted. I'm going to love it here. I will make myself love it here.

  Knowing the cottage would appear warmer once she built a roaring fire, she attacked the task as she did her work in Los Angeles. Stacking the wood in an artful way, making sure the fire had enough room to spread, Erika then crumpled pieces of the Times she had read on the plane. After lighting it with a worn-out matchbook she located in a kitchen drawer, the fire sputtered and then caught life as the paper began to burn.

  Elated with her handiwork, she sat back to watch the flames engulf the wood, delighted in the small warmth already coming from the gigantic stone fireplace that occupied one whole wall of the small cottage. It was now easier to tell herself that everything was going to be all right.

  As if jinxed by her words, the paper disintegrated and so did her fire. Not to be dissuaded by failure, Erika tried again, three times. Finally, she admitted defeat.

  With slumped shoulders and unsteady breath, Erika crossed to lock the cottage door before finding a room for the night. Reaching to turn the lock, Erika realized that it wouldn't turn. It was stuck.

  "No," she cried audibly. "Not this! I can't handle this!"

  Resting her head on the closed door, she willed herself not to cry again. She felt utterly defeated. The experience with the bear was too fresh. She wasn't satisfied that Moose was just a pet. He was out to get her, she knew. And, if he didn't, there must be more vicious creatures lurking in those murky woods that would!

  Finding a chair, she shoved it under the knob with all her might. After testing it, she wasn't satisfied. She then heaped all her luggage on top of the chair to give it weight. Then, in her hysteria, she also put another chair on top of that.

  With fear rising in her heart over her predicament, Erika dropped to the well-worn but comfortable couch in front of the cold fireplace. Soon after, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Erika arose late the next morning. She had always heard that "joy comes in the morning." She hadn’t exactly felt joyous when she awoke, but her surroundings were much more pleasant. The cottage was cold but she noticed a heavy wool blanket engulfing her tiny body.

  "That's odd," Erika said aloud to the empty cottage. "Where did that come from? In fact," she added needlessly, "where would I have found it?"

  Erika shrugged, dismissing the topic all together. Suddenly, the crick in her neck seemed much more important. Her muscles were cold and sore from an uncomfortable sleep. Her eyes and face felt puffy and stiff from dried tears.

  The cottage also appeared much less threatening in the light of day. Stretching to lengthen her cramped muscles, Erika's eyes thirstily drank in their first glimpse of Priest Lake, the healing waters of her journey.

  She was awestruck by its pristine beauty. It was as if nothing else existed but this Eden. Stepping through an unlocked back door onto a log deck, she filled her lungs until they ached with the freshness of the air. The pines were so tall; their tips almost reached the velvet blue Idaho sky. Their smell so pungent, it reminded her of the Christmas tree lots she went to as a child. Overhead, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, yet after close inspection; she noticed billowy cumulus clouds caught behind the mountains that framed her newfound paradise.

  The morning air was crisp, for sure. Almost icy and the air much thinner than she was used to. The climate was very different from her native Southern California, but the change was rejuvenating. It reminded her once again of the impending adventure and her new identity as Marie Bancroft.

  Yesterday, the name had come to her suddenly while conversing with Tim, she remembered. She had been caught off guard when he began that litany of questions. Erika had automatically given her middle name, Marie, and added her uncle's last, Bancroft. It wasn't exactly lying, she rationalized, her middle name was Marie and her uncle did raise her from childhood. In essence, he had adopted her.

  Feeling much better with her new rationalization, Erika's mind began to whirl with pent up energy. Wrapping her arms around her tiny waist, she gleefully exhaled while her sparkling eyes scanned the shoreline and horizon.

  There were so many things she wanted to do, to explore! I must find a hunter’s map, she said to no one in particular, except maybe the gray squirrel nibbling on a pinecone covertly watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  Deep down inside her soul, a place she had kept all to herself, Erika knew that her brief stint as Marie Bancroft would be exciting, adventurous … and healing. She knew she would thrive … absolutely thrive in these mountains and along-side the rugged shore of this hidden lake. No society, no media, no places to be seen. She almost trembled with relief.

 
In this place, Marie would be just a simple, uncomplicated, normal woman with none of the cares that plague Erika Crawford, heiress and textile executive. Marie Bancroft would be free to shape her own destiny … even if that destiny lasted but a few short weeks.

  Erika spent the next hour inspecting her new home and settling her belongings. It was by no means lush. It was functional, no extras, she noticed. The furnishings in the small main room were worn and cozy. Above the chenille couch was a leaded picture window which framed a fantastic view of the lake and pine trees.

  The cottage door also had a window where she had a view to the front. Two oversized club chairs, which showed wear, but were covered in an expensive fabric, completed the seating in the main room. The whole look giving one the feeling of timelessness. The large stone fireplace was the central focus of the room. An intricately woven Native American tapestry warmed up the room and the stone backdrop.

  The coffee table had neatly displayed sports and outdoor magazines. Old wooden skis, antique fishing poles, equipment and baskets were displayed here and there. The living area lent an easy, haphazard charm. A secure feeling, as if one was coming home.

  The kitchen also was functional. There was not a dishwasher in sight, she quickly noticed. But, there was a large sink and plenty of counter space. The refrigerator must be an antique, she mused. There were no cupboards, but open shelves that housed blue and white Currier & Ives plates, saucers and bowls. There were also glasses that looked to be new, and some foodstuffs.

  A large pine breakfast table and chairs dominated the tiny kitchen. Obviously, the disproportionately large table was intended for a good-size family!

  Further inspection down the hall led to a large bedroom housing had an antique pine dresser with a beveled oval mirror and a Queen-sized bed sitting in a frame that reminded Erika of fresh cut logs. The bed was covered by a hand-sewn quilt, which served as a backdrop for numerous floral throw pillows. In the corner, next to the wooded window sat a comfortable looking overstuffed chair. Again, the focal point was the extravagant Northwest view.

  Erika was duly impressed with the architectural instinct of the cottage's creator. Though mere survival at that time must have been difficult, the settlers still placed a value on beauty. Their aesthetic eye situated the log home to perfection. In every room, the inhabitant could gaze upon the awesomeness of creation. The simplicity of the cottage and decor eased Erika's tired, worn spirit. It was as if the logs themselves were whispering words of healing and strength.

  Creatively, her mind began to whirl. The freshness gave her ideas for new textile designs. Abruptly, however, she stopped herself. Her identity was wrapped up in her work, the design aspect was second nature, but she must discipline herself to mentally rest. It was like trying to put the brakes on a freight train barreling down a mountain. It would take discipline … intense discipline, she knew.

  Erika walked down the pine-planked hall, passed the bathroom and a linen closet and another room she would explore later and dropped down on the cushioned couch in the front room.

  Wrapping up in a woolen throw, Erika sat quietly reveling in the silence, the stillness … the relief. She just wanted to feel … nothing. But, nothingness gave way to memories of yesterday and that evoked memories of her traveling companion. And that was definitely something she didn’t want to think about!

  With an irritated sigh, Erika knew she should check in with her uncle, who hadn’t been excited about this trip at all. Not that he didn’t think she needed the time after her ordeal, but the idea of Priest Lake was a little far-fetched for him. She dialed Crawford Industries corporate office from her cell phone.

  A few seconds later, her uncle’s assistant picked up his private line.

  "Earlene, can I speak to Mr. Bancroft please, this is Erika."

  "I’m sorry, dear, but he is in a closed-door meeting. Is something wrong?” she questioned, concern laced through her every word.

  "No,” Erika said cautiously, determined not to become irritated and ruin her good mood. And then in a somewhat teasing voice she asked, “No, Earlene, everything is great. I just promised him I would check in when I arrived…”

  “But that was yesterday. I have your travel schedule right here and I can tell you that Lawrence has asked at least a half of dozen times already if I’ve heard from you.”

  “Earlene,” Erika responded succinctly, “We had weather problems yesterday and I didn’t get in until late. Everything is just fine. Just tell him that I called and am safe and sound.”

  “Will do.”

  “Earlene,” Erika asked quickly before the line could be severed, her reception wasn’t great up here, “Who is he in a meeting with?”

  The line had gone dead, which wasn’t unusual with the spotty cell phone coverage she had discovered at the lake.

  Chewing thoughtfully on the corner of her lip, Erika decided to check-in with her own assistant, Ellie. Though she really wanted to disconnect from work, she still felt an obligation to know what was happening. She had known Earlene for years … could almost predict when things became stressful in her uncle’s office by the tone of her voice. This was one of those times.

  “Ellie,” Erika breathed when she was finally reconnected to the office.

  "Why are you calling me," boomed Ellie's voice suddenly.

  With a chuckle at the good-natured command, Erika replied, "I just miss your good morning cheer!"

  "Right, Miss Boss. You're just a workaholic. You can't stand the thought of inactivity! Everything's fine, there's no trouble, so get back to that vacation, will you!"

  “I plan on it, believe me,” Erika exclaimed. “Just a few loose ends. I need you to do something for me. I just spoke with Earlene and she told me about a closed-door meeting that Uncle Lawrence is holding in his office as we speak. I want you to find out who is in that meeting. Camp out in Earlene's office ... or ask her about her dogs, which should keep you there long enough!"

  "Oh, brother! Couldn't you think of something better than that one? I swear, the woman can give you a dissertation on breeds of Afghans and their history in the United States. It's very difficult to act interested!"

  "Well then, think of something else. I need those names, Ellie. I might as well tell you this, too. I know something is up and I know it is very confidential. Don't mention a word of this to anyone. I think we may be having some trouble and I think that trouble stems from Steve, my ex-finance. Uncle Lawrence will try and shield me from this but I can’t allow it. If something is wrong, I need to know!"

  "Are you sure you not just suffering from jet lag … an over-active imagination? Lawrence has closed-door meetings all the time. Maybe you need to just … disconnect for a while.”

  Erika sighed. “Ellie … I admit that I’m tired, who wouldn’t be after all this … but I know I’m right and I need your help.”

  “Well,” Ellie regretfully replied, “You know I can help you and I can get to the bottom of it … if there is anything to find.”

  "I know you can. I still think you have the makings for an FBI agent except, I won't let you leave me to find out,” Erika teased."

  "FBI? It couldn't be as exciting as this job! Now, listen, don't call me back. I'll call you tonight at home and give you the information. Until then, promise me ... just have fun, if you know how!"

  Erika sat staring at her cell phone. The world that had seemed so far away just moments before came crashing back around her. Memories she didn’t want unearthed so soon began their sick playback in her mind. It was that tabloid newspaper again. The image was once again crystal clear. Unwillingly she was transported back to her sleek corporate office in the heart of Century City where she had first seen that cheap newsprint sitting triumphantly at the center of her desk.

  ----

  "Ugh!" she exclaimed as she let the tabloid slip through her fingers, dropping her head into her hands.

  With tiny tears of humiliation gathering in the corners of her large sapphire colored eyes, Erika
stared transfixed at her mirror image.

  Could that photograph really be her, she wondered horrified. So much had happened since that night only a week prior. Erika felt such a distance from the image of that glamorous looking woman. The din of the party atmosphere, the laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses came back to taunt her. Erika remembered the hearty congratulations given to her companion that evening. Her ears buzzed and burned as the memory haunted her.

  Glancing back at the newsprint image now resting on the floor next to her leather office chair, Erika critically studied the luster of her heavy black hair, the sheen of wispy curls evident even in the black and white photograph. She hadn’t realized the photographer was so close. Erika was used to the perpetual camera flashes of approved media at required social functions, but she hated every moment of it. Her disdain for personal publicity only gave the curious more cause to focus their many gossip stories and snippets on the petite beauty’s privileged life.

  The sequined dress Erika had worn that evening reflected the brilliance of the ornate Opera House chandeliers above. A tentative smile emerged as Erika remembered how excited the fashion giant, LISA, had been when she unveiled the original creation in Erika’s penthouse apartment. LISA was more than a brilliant designer; she was Erika’s childhood friend and confidant. Lisa Taylor had pronounced the dress perfect for Erika’s slight figure and her big news. Erika agreed to wear the garment only out of deference to Steve’s taste. The dress was flashy. He liked that. The only jewelry worn was a pair of emerald drop earrings inherited from her mother, and the ten-carat marquis engagement ring.

  As the memory faded and the reality of her betrayal came into focus by the cheap newsprint, Erika's face began to burn. Her eyes flew to the photograph once again and to the image of her left hand daintily toasting a champagne glass with the evening’s guest of honor. The photographer had paid close attention to his camera angle, capturing the brilliance of the ring with one dynamic flash.