Heart of Frankenstein

by Lexi Post

  “I’m scared.” Her words were barely audible, but intense.

  “Don’t be. Just remember that it may be blurry for a while and the light might hurt a little, but you can close your eyelids anytime and rest your eyes.”

  “Of course.”

  When she didn’t say anything else, he used his fingers to grasp the two jar lids. “Do you have your eyes closed?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. I’m removing the coverings now.” He lifted the two jar lids and put them on the end table next to the bed. “Now, slowly open your eyes.”

  “I can already see it’s lighter.” Her eye lashes fluttered and rose.

  He sucked in his breath at the bright green color revealed as she turned her head toward him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Angela’s heart lodged in her throat as she looked at her caretaker. It was like trying to see through a waterfall. There was black hair and maybe a beard and a dark tan-colored face, but no details. She could see colors, but shapes were distorted and wouldn’t come into focus. On his shoulders was something white and that hurt.

  Oh God, she hoped this wasn’t what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life. No more adventures. No more job. She barely kept her tears at bay. “It’s all blurry.” She heard the panic in her own voice.

  “Close your eyes for a minute then open them again slowly. They need time to remember how to function.”

  His ever-calm voice helped her control her anxiety, and she closed her eyes, turning her head so she would be looking at the ceiling when she opened them again. She started to count. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four—

  “Did you have any bright blotches as you tried to focus?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. Is that good?”

  “Blotches would be a bad sign, so that’s good.”

  He remained silent after that. She liked it much better when he talked to her. “When I open my eyes, what will I see on the ceiling?”

  At her question, she could picture him looking up. “You will see pine boards that rise to the peak. If you look across the ceiling, you will see a large log that bisects the area below it.”

  “Good. I have an idea in my mind. Let’s see if I’m right.” She slowly opened her eyes and stared at the wood above her. It was still slightly blurry, but better than before.

  Excitement flew through her, and she scanned the area to find the supporting log bisecting the open area about ten feet above her, but it went the opposite way she’d envisioned. She smirked a little and turned her head.

  Her exclamation died on her lips. Though he still wasn’t in focus, her mountain man was not what she’d imagined, though he did appear huge. He was much younger, and if she was a good guesser, much handsomer than she expected. Her gaze moved to meet his, and he quickly looked away, but before he did, the intensity in his eyes struck her even without clear vision.

  “You can see.” His words were spoken with no emotion or inflection at all.

  “I can, but it’s still not clear. I’m going to close them again and see if it gets better.” With new hope and more confidence, she closed her eyes.

  “I’ll cook dinner. I think you should try some meat.” As he spoke, he moved away, his voice not as loud as he turned toward the area he used as a kitchen.

  Was he shy? Just thinking of him as shy made her want to reassure him. Maybe that was why he lived so far north. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable around people. For all she knew, he could have a form of autism. She didn’t know much about it, but from what she’d heard, that could be it. He was clearly very smart.

  She slowly opened her eyes again and he came into view, but the white back of his shirt hurt her eyes, so she scanned other areas of the room, only to feel a little queasy.

  Closing her eyes, she let her stomach right itself. Her vision was definitely getting better as long as she didn’t move her gaze too fast. She waited to open her eyes again, listening to the sound her caretaker made as he prepared the meal.

  The second the meat hit the hot pan, she heard it sizzle. She kept her eyes closed until a savory scent filled the room, making her stomach growl. Careful this time, she turned her head toward the smell before opening her eyes.

  The mountain man was in profile to her as he tended the meat. Still, his white shirt bothered her, so she focused on the wood stove he cooked on. It was not very big, probably because he lived alone.

  Her vision still wasn’t a hundred percent, so she moved her gaze past him to the table he said was next to a supporting post. There were no chairs next to it and the top had two legs on one side with the other side supported by the post.

  As she moved her gaze past it, she found the couch he spoke about, just on the other side of the front door. It wasn’t short at all. It had to be about eight feet long, but definitely homemade. She couldn’t tell if the cushions were store-bought or not, but they weren’t red. They were brown.

  Over the couch was a window. From where she lay she could see outside, and it looked as if everything was coated in blue. There was blue snow and blue-green evergreen trees along with a few bluish boulders peeking through parts of the snow. It looked cold.

  Closing her eyes again, she reviewed all she’d seen. On the other side of the front door was various equipment, but even that seemed neat. For someone who lived alone, he was very organized, or he had cleaned up for her benefit. He did seem like such a gentleman.

  “Your dinner is ready.”

  She’d been so focused on her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him approach, or was she already depending on her sight again? She opened her eyes to look at him, but he wasn’t on the chair beside the bed. He had walked to the couch.

  The scent of the meat and something sweet had her turning her body toward it.

  “Stop. Don’t move.”

  She froze, having barely shifted her weight. He hadn’t yelled, but the tone of his voice made it clear it was serious. Was there a spider hanging over her? Did Alaska have spiders?

  He strode toward her with a couch cushion in his hand. “If you move, your hands will start stinging. Ease back.”

  Shoot, she’d totally forgotten about her hands in her excitement over her sight. Carefully, she relaxed into the bed.

  He bent over her, and she closed her eyes, his white shirt still a problem. When he’d lifted her and set her up so she could eat, she spoke. “Could you change your shirt, or just take it off. The color hurts my eyes.”

  There was a pregnant silence. Had she offended him? Shoot, she hadn’t meant to. Her stomach growled at the delay.

  “I’ll change after you eat. Nourishment is more important right now.”

  She couldn’t very well argue with that. “Okay, but I think I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

  “That’s acceptable.” The chair creaked as he settled into it, and she heard the fork against the plate.

  When the sound stopped, she opened her mouth, and he set a piece of food on her tongue. She chewed tender meat with an odd flavor to it. It was good, but it didn’t taste like anything she’d ever had. When she was done, she opened her mouth to ask what it was, but another piece of food was inserted.

  She smiled inside. He was right. She should eat now and talk later. The next mouthful was sweet, and she easily identified the squash since it was a food she loved. She obediently ate everything he put in her mouth. This time she felt satisfied and not as if he hadn’t fed her enough. As before, he wiped her face when she finished.

  When he rose from the chair and walked away, she opened her eyes again. She stared at his jeans since they were dark. She’d been right, the man was big. He’d moved to the stove and scraped a pan. When he was done, he strode toward her, so she closed her eyes again to avoid looking at his shirt.

  The chair next to the bed was moved and when she looked again, he was seated at the table. Since looking at only the bottom half of him was frustrating, she occupied herself with the bed she was in instead.

  It was
obviously hand-built with logs. At the foot was a log that connected the two short posts on either side. The quilt looked like a mix of old clothes sewn together. That made sense. On top of it lay both her hands wrapped in maroon flannel. It was as if she wore mittens. She resisted the urge to move them, the remembered pain a strong deterrent.

  Her arms were bare, but they didn’t look sunburned or anything, so that was good. If she remembered correctly, she had a tank top on, and he’d obviously been a gentleman to have removed only her outer clothing.

  She needed to repay him somehow. Maybe a shipment of supplies, though he didn’t seem to need anything. She’d have to get him talking to find out what he might want. Maybe they could discuss his cabin.

  She looked at the log wall the bed was set against. There were no windows along it at all. There was one on the opposite wall and the two on either side of the door. That was odd. There had to be a reason.

  She looked toward him to ask him why, but he rose and moved back to the kitchen. She could definitely hear running water. How could that be? She wanted to ask but had no name to call him. He had to have name.

  Her vision still wasn’t good enough to pick out details, but now that she could see what he did, it felt strange to just blurt out a question without gaining his attention first by calling his name. So, she waited.

  She wasn’t known for her patience, but this was a good lesson. She might be dependent on him for another week or more, so she’d just have to suck it up.

  He finally finished in the kitchen area. Once he moved, she could see there was a counter and cabinets. She didn’t see a refrigerator, but since everything still had a fuzzy outline, she couldn’t be sure. Then again, with all the snow outside and no electricity, he probably had some kind of cold storage.

  He stopped at the end of the bed and pulled something out of the chest he’d told her about the other day. It looked like another shirt. Finally, she’d be able to look at his face without her eyes feeling like they’d just been punched.

  “I’ll change now.”

  She squinted at the shirt in his hands. “Is that wool?”

  “Yes. It’s very warm. However, I have kept it warmer in here for you, which is why I donned this one.” He turned toward the front door.

  “Oh.” Now she felt selfish. If he changed, he’d sweat up a storm. “Wait. You don’t have to change. I’m sure once it gets dark, your white shirt won’t bother me. Please. Leave it on.”

  “As you wish.” He moved back to his chest and after folding the shirt neatly, put it away.

  Afraid he would go outside anyway to do whatever chores he might have, she asked the first question that popped into her head. “How old are you?”

  He stilled. “Is that important?”

  She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t as the movement caused her hands to start burning. Luckily, it had been a small move, and she was able to take deep breaths to keep from crying. She blinked a few times, now sure the blurriness was water in her eyes. “I guess not. I guess I just imagined you to be older.” Okay, that wasn’t exactly nice.

  Since when did she stumble over making conversation? “What kind of meat was that?”

  “Venison.”

  Shoot, she forgot he liked to give one-word answers. “I’ve never had such tender venison. How did you get it like that?”

  He still remained at the end of the bed, but she couldn’t look above his waist.

  “I marinated it overnight before cooking it on the stove with water and a cover.”

  Now she wanted to know where he’d learned to cook. In Switzerland? Germany? She didn’t remember having deer meat while traveling in those countries. Before she could ask another question, he moved to the couch and picked something up only to place it on the bookshelves adjacent to it.

  “What was that?” Now she sounded nosey. What was wrong with her?

  “It’s a book. Do you read?”

  “I do.” She actually liked to read, though usually it was about different countries’ customs and histories. “What were you reading?”

  He walked toward the kitchen again, but answered her. “The Lady of the Lake.”

  It sounded like a romance or something. “I’ve never heard of it. I don’t read much fiction.”

  He opened a door in the wall. He’d never said anything about a back door. She hoped he wasn’t going outside.

  He disappeared through it but left it open, so she waited. Seemed she was doing that a lot.

  When he came back through, he had what looked like a big piece of fur and a pillow. “Sir Walter Scott wrote the poem for entertainment, but it’s based on fact if you know the history of the struggle between King James V and the Douglas Clan.”

  Walter Scott? Didn’t he write about William Wallace? She’d seen a movie about him, even visited Stirling Castle in Scotland as part of her work travels, but she’d never heard of a lady and a lake. “Maybe I could read something when my eyes feel better.”

  He dropped the pile on the couch and moved toward her. She lowered her gaze, though she wanted to see his face in the worst way.

  “Your eyes hurt?” He stopped beside the bed, the concern in his voice making her kick herself for worrying him.

  “Only when I look at something bright. Things are just a little fuzzy.”

  “You’ll find your vision will grow stronger every day.”

  Despite the pain, she forced her gaze to skim over his white shirt to look him in the eye. Again, he avoided her gaze, but that just gave her time to study him. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”

  He still didn’t look at her. “I had to.”

  She was too busy trying to bring the details of his features into focus to register his response. He had hair as black as midnight and a beard to match, but it was well trimmed, accentuating his jaw. His eyebrows were black, too, and it appeared he might have high cheek bones and a prominent nose, but she couldn’t be sure.

  He turned away. “Would you like anything else before retiring?”

  What? She glanced out the windows. It wasn’t dark yet. “Are you going to sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  She wanted to ask him to stay awake and talk with her, but that would be selfish. He spent his day waiting on her whenever she woke up. “Do you have any wine?”

  “No.” He was in the kitchen now, filling a pot with water.

  “Are you having tea?”

  “Yes.”

  Again with the one-word responses. Maybe one more night of sleep inducing tea couldn’t hurt. “I’ll have some, too.”

  He didn’t indicate that he’d heard her but he moved about the cabinetry with efficiency, his back to her.

  At least she could get him talking while the water boiled. “Was it hard building this cabin by yourself?” As much as she wanted to watch him, it wasn’t worth it if she couldn’t see his face.

  “No.”

  Okay, she’d walked right into that one. “How did you do it?”

  “I chopped down the trees and put it together.”

  She raised her brows. “Chopped?”

  “Yes. I arrived here late in the year and the cave behind this cabin served as a good place to live until I could build. Whenever there was a good day with no snow, I would chop trees. I knew of Savik but I also knew any outpost out this far wouldn’t receive supplies until spring. The chances of finding a chainsaw were slim, so I used the axe I’d brought with me.”

  She was still processing the fact that there was a cave behind the cabin when he moved the chair from the table to next to the bed. Then he returned to the stove.

  “How did you get the roof on without someone to help you? I would think you’d need at least two people to balance the main support.” She watched as he poured the liquid into the tin cup.

  “I nailed a few boards together then hoisted them into place. After that it was easy to build the rest. Have you built a cabin before?” He sounded hopeful.

  She gave him a small smile, ver
y aware of the limitations of her chapped lips. If only she’d brought lipstick or lip balm with her to the glacier. “No, I haven’t. I’m just a curious person about how others live. When I was preparing for this vacation, I read a lot and watched documentaries on living in the arctic.”

  He sat in the chair, and she looked away. When he was this close, it was as if a white wall was in front of her. He seemed overly large, but it might be because of the size of the cabin. Everything was a matter of perspective.

  When he didn’t immediately lift her head, she glanced toward his hands. They dwarfed the cup. It looked small, so that must be why.

  “I’m waiting for the tea to cool. I don’t think you need more burns.”

  Wow, this man was too good to be true. Why wasn’t he married? He was so thoughtful. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

  When he didn’t respond, she filled in the silence. “You haven’t told me how you found me. Was I far away from here? Were you out hunting and saw my red parka?”

  “No. You were on the mountain across from this one. It was a narrow ledge, not like here, which is a large one. I had planned to catch fish and looked up at the sun to judge the time when I noticed a reflection of sun bouncing off the ledge. That has never happened before so I investigated.”

  “I wonder what it was. I bet you were hoping it was gold. I heard there’s been gold discovered here in the past.”

  “I didn’t expect it to be gold, nor did I want it to be. I expected it to be the sun’s reflection off a gun, but it wasn’t.” He leaned in and lifted her head.

  So much for conversation. She could keep her lips closed, but that seemed rude. After taking a sip, she pulled back. “So, what caused the reflection?”

  “It was a small square device you’d dropped.” He brought the cup to her lips and she drank.

  “That was probably my phone. I knew there was no signal out here, but I used it as a camera. It’s probably dead now.”

  He didn’t immediately lift the cup. “Dead?”