Within a Man's Heart

by Winton, Tom

  But as I passed a few scattered houses on the way out of the village, and for the rest of the five miles through a treed canyon on the Portland Road, the other part of me was thinking of something else. As always, Elyse was on my mind, too. Here it was, my first day out of our apartment—not even twelve hours since I’d left, and already I was curious about another woman.

  “Was I actually flirting with her?” I asked myself, as the sign came into view.

  Right after it did, I glanced at myself in the Volvo’s rearview mirror. Deeply disgusted with who I saw, I smirked at him and slowly shook my head. By the time I looked back out the windshield, I saw that I was quickly drifting toward the road shoulder. I jerked the steering wheel and straightened out just in time. Approaching the sign by now, I saw that is was the one I’d been looking for. And that dirt road was just before it. It was only fifty yards away, and I ordered myself not to look down it as I began to slow down. I refused to allow myself to. And when I came up to it, I forced my eyes to the opposite direction. Then I lowered them, to the road atlas alongside me—to that most recently highlighted yellow line.

  Settling In

  The Contented Moose sign was framed with timbers, and just below the lettering there was a picture of a female moose with a wide, toothy grin. The moosette was wearing a pretty pink bow on top of her head, and beneath her it said, “Connie.” Once I passed the sign, I turned left into the gravel driveway and drove to the top of a small hill. Six log cabins were sitting in a semi-circle up there, and to the far right of them, a slightly larger A-frame. All of them backed onto a forest of dense pines, and as I approached, I could hear a chorus of chirping, early-evening crickets. When I reached the level clearing in front of the structures, there was a wooden arrow sign that said “office.” Turning there, I slowly idled toward the A-frame.

  Two pickup trucks were parked out front. One had dual wheels on the back axle and, like Gina’s truck back at the store, a snowplow harness mounted on the front. They, too, were big Chevy’s but somewhat newer. I pulled in alongside them; then went to knock on the cabin’s screen door.

  “C’mon in!” came a woman’s voice from somewhere inside.

  I opened the spring-loaded door, stepped in, and this time was very careful not to let it nail me in the behind.

  The log walls and overhead beams inside were light and cheery, and the high cathedral ceiling overhead made this only room feel more spacious than it really was. As the lady approached, I noticed a stone fireplace on the far wall behind her. Above it I saw a loft and figured it was the sleeping area. To my immediate right was a small kitchen area and two, blue jean-clad legs with boots on the ends of them were splayed out on the wooden floor. There were tools scattered all around, and the top half of whoever they belonged to was all scrunched up inside a cabinet beneath the sink. Some serious grunting and groaning was going on in there.

  “Oh my,” the lady in jeans and a powder blue shirt said as she came up to me and extended her hand, “Gina was right! You are a good looking one.”

  A little embarrassed by the remark, I still had to chuckle as I took her hand and said, “Well, it’s quite obvious where your daughter got her good looks.”

  “Touché!” she came back, “I think I’m going to like you. I’m Connie . . . Connie Elkin.”

  “Chris Crews,” I said, “Glad to meet you.”

  I released her hand then and when I did there was a loud clunk beneath the sink. We both looked over toward it and then there was an even louder, “Ahhhh, shhhit!”

  “You okay in there, Wally?” Connie asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll live. I’m just now wrapping this thing up.”

  “Drain problem.” Connie said to me as we turned to face each other again. “That’s Wally down there. He’s Gina’s uncle. C’mon let’s sit over here by the desk.”

  As she rummaged through the drawers for paperwork, I couldn’t help but to admire her. She was a very attractive woman for her age. Probably in her mid to late fifties, she was a tad shorter than Gina and just as lean. And despite the barely detectable limp I’d noticed when she first approached me, she was every bit as spry as her daughter.

  Sitting across from her now, I noticed just a few gray strands in her flowing black hair and could tell that her facial features were rooted somewhere along the shores of the Mediterranean. She had an angular jaw line and high cheekbones that looked as if they’d been sculpted beneath her smooth skin. The only wrinkles on her face were the two fine lines that edged her smile like barely discernible parentheses. Her brown eyes were friendly and alert.

  It turned out that Connie Elkin had two cabins available—an efficiency and a larger one with a small bedroom. I opted for the one-bedroom cabin. And when I told her I’d like to stay for a week, she charged me the same rate as she usually did for the smaller cabins. It was old, like most things in Mountain Step, but it was clean enough to perform surgery on the floor. There was a small refrigerator and stove, a microwave, a TV, sofa and chair, and a queen-size bed in the second room. Tired as I was from my long, emotional day, I was tickled to be there. And somehow, the fact that the cabin was the last unit on the end—only about a hundred feet from that dirt road—didn’t bother me either.

  After I settled in, a cold beer or two would really have hit the spot. But that would have to wait until I went grocery shopping. Instead I got myself a glass of ice water, nuked the two slices of pizza then scarfed them both down. They were absolutely delicious. I could have kicked myself for not buying three. I couldn’t get over it—here I was, raised in New York City where you can buy some of the world’s best pizza in any neighborhood, and the slices I’d picked up here, at a small town general store, were right up there with the very best.

  After eating, I wanted to take it easy for a while. I grabbed both pillows off the bed, piled them onto the sofa’s armrest, lay down, and read for a while. With hopes of learning more about rural New England, I’d brought along a copy of Thoreau’s The Maine Woods. In the quiet of the cabin, I read about Henry David’s North Wood’s adventure until dark. Then I heard something other than the crickets or the occasional passing car out front on Portland Road. I’d opened a couple of windows earlier and could now hear a vehicle coming up the dirt road outside the cabin. As much as I had tried to stop myself, I’d kept an ear open for that exact sound the whole time I was reading.

  No! Forget about it, I thought. You’re not going to peek out that window like some desperate teenager with a crush. Pull yourself together, stupid.

  But I couldn’t stop myself. I got up off the sofa and crept into the dark bedroom. I wondered if she was looking over at the cabin as she drove. Could she have talked to Connie and found out I was in the end cabin? Quickly, I stepped to the side of the doorway so not to be seen in the light from the other room. Then I crawled across the bed like a stealthy sniper, got up, and stood alongside the open window. Slowly I leaned to the side and peeked out the window. Even though it was dark; close as the vehicle was with its lights on, I could clearly see it was a pickup truck. As it got closer, I saw the snowplow harness on the front of it. I knew it was her, and I hated myself. I yanked my head from the window, dropped down onto the bed behind me, crawled to the other side, and went back into the other room. After killing the light in there, I brushed my teeth and went directly to bed.

  Sleep did not come easy for me. There was a lot of self contempt being felt inside a certain cabin in Mountain Step, New Hampshire that night. I just wouldn’t leave myself alone. I couldn’t. I thought for sure that leaving New York had been a horribly bad decision. I don’t know how long I laid there questioning my sanity.

  How could you just up and leave your job and apartment like that? What kind of fool are you, anyway? Things were bad enough before, now they’re worse. The last thing I need now is more freaking guilt. I didn’t come up here for that. Shit . . . I wish I could go back in time . . . just a few weeks. I’d try to . . . .

  On and on I went like that until
I finally dozed off. But even then things didn’t get any better. As I restlessly slept, my subconscious mind kicked in. And it, too, worked me over real good.

  I dreamed that I was back in that store again, face to face with Gina by the snack bar. It was that moment when we had locked our eyes together. But it was different this time. There was somebody else there now. It was Elyse! She was standing in the middle aisle, up toward the front of the store, taking something from a shelf. And she was watching us. I could feel her presence, just as I did when the event actually took place that day. But Elyse was also there in body this time. And when Gina turned to go to the pizza oven, I turned my head toward her. She looked so unhappy, so sad and betrayed. There were tears in her eyes. And when I saw one fall from her eyelid and course her cheek, a cold chill invaded every fiber in my body.

  An Unexpected Guest

  No matter how hard man has tried, he’s never concocted a drug or drink that can lift the human spirit like a morning sun can. Dawn’s early light is nothing short of magical. And I needed a little magic. The night before, like an evil black chameleon, darkness transformed my guilt and heartache into unconquerable monsters. But, as they so often are, things were different in the morning. When I awoke to the sun’s first rays filtering through the cabin curtains, the new light brightened my spirits as much as it did the room. And I could feel my hopes coming back to life.

  I spent the day, and the next three, driving around every town and village within a thirty-mile radius of The Contented Moose Cabins. I checked out places to the north, south, and west of Conway. I even drove east a ways into Maine. The “Pine Tree State” border was but three miles from the cabin, so I picked up Route 302 and drove through Fryeburg all the way to Bridgton and Naples. Both states were absolutely beautiful. Every area I visited was as green and pretty as the last. Some were mostly forest and hills while others had mountain views, lakes, and streams. But somehow, at the end of each day, the pull of Mountain Step, New Hampshire was always the strongest. It had nothing to do with the fact that my luggage and shaving gear were still there in the cabin. Neither did it have anything to do with a lady named Gina Elkin. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  At dusk, on the fourth day of my stay, I was sitting on the front porch enjoying a cold beer and a strong dose of newfound optimism when three deer sweetened my mood even more. I watched as two does crossed Portland Road at the bottom of the hill and stepped gracefully into the woods. Then, right behind them, I saw the third. He was a big, strong, eight-point buck, and he was taking his sweet time crossing the road. Tall and erect, he was the picture of male self-assuredness. That is until a dim light suddenly appeared on his broad, tawny flank. Quickly, he turned his head up the road; saw the light’s source; flicked his long white tail straight up; and double-timed it into the woods. The beams on the asphalt road brightened and they grew larger. Then a pickup truck came into view. It was Gina’s green Chevy. I hadn’t seen her since that first day in the store and wasn’t sure if I was ready to now.

  As she approached her dirt road to my right, I thought about ducking inside the cabin. Half of me wanted to but the other half didn’t. There was no time to let them argue so the latter won out. I stayed put in that wooden Adirondack chair. And it was a good thing I did because she would have seen me. She passed her road and my cabin; then turned left into the Contented Moose’s entryway. As she started up the hill, she looked in my direction. Immediately she extended her arm through her open window and gave me a big wave. I waved back and was damn glad I hadn’t retreated inside. It wouldn’t have been right. And she surely would have seen me.

  She pulled up to the cabin alongside my SUV but didn’t get out. “Hi stranger!” she said, leaning her head out the window.

  She wasn’t wearing her green John Deere cap this time, and her long hair was down. The way it was freshly brushed, it put me to mind of lustrous ebony silk. And the way she looked with it edging her beautiful face and high cheeks would have made Cleopatra seethe with envy.

  Feeling as if I should invite her to sit down, I said, “Hi Gina.” Then I wiggled the can in my hand and added, “All I have is beer, but if you’d like, I can grab you one.”

  “Beer,” she said as if it were a question, “well . . . sure! I just stopped over to see my Mom for a few minutes, but why not?”

  For a quick second, my spirits nosed-dived. I wondered if she’d really come to see Connie, or was it with hopes of seeing me. But that didn’t last very long. When she stepped out of her truck, that thought went poof! It simply vanished as if it had never existed.

  Oh-my-good-God, I thought, would you look at her! That hair is all the way down to her waist . . . and, man, what a trim waist! With that tight burgundy sweater tucked into those beige jeans, wow . . . she-is-something-else. I had no clue her waist was that trim. And those hips and everything else . . . whoosh!

  Not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable—and make myself look like an idiot—I’d only glanced at her quickly before looking back into those eyes again. They were still as striking as the first time we met. They still looked silver—silver as the big hoop earrings peeking out from beneath her hair. C’mon Chris, don’t be ridiculous! I thought then, she wouldn’t dress this way just to stop over to her mother’s place. She looked so glamorous, she could have brought a comatose man back to the here and now—and made him wolf-howl with desire. I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I managed to keep my composure.

  “Good . . . good,” I said rising to my feet, “Come on, have a seat, Gina. I’ll go inside and get you a cold one. Want it in a glass?”

  “No thanks. Right out of the can will be fine.”

  It was starting to get a little dark out, so as I stepped into the cabin, I turned the porch light on. A minute later, when I came back out, I handed Gina a Miller Lite and sat down beside her. She took a small sip then said with a smile, “So . . . how have you been doing? My Mom told me you’ll be staying all week.”

  Slowly twirling my beer can in my hands, I said, “Yeah, I am. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll be staying for a lot longer than that.”

  “Oh . . . is that so?” she said, opening those magical eyes a little wider, “What do you mean? What are your plans . . . if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “No, that’s fine. For the past few days, I’ve been looking at all the surrounding towns. But I seem to like Mountain Step just the best. I think I just might be settling down here for a while.”

  She looked my face over closely for a moment, nodding in thought. Then she said, “Oh…really? Well that’s nice. Where will you stay, here in the cabin?”

  “No, no,” I nodded my head, I’m thinking about buying a place—something small, quiet, with maybe an acre or two. I don’t need anything big and fancy.”

  “Hmmm, let me see . . . I don’t know of many places for sale right now. But let me think here.”

  She then took a sip from her can and looked out into the darkness. “The Simonton’s have their place up for sale, but I don’t think it would be for you. They have three kids. I know it must have at least three bedrooms. Plus, it sits on a small lot. But hey, you know what—my uncle Wally has a big piece of property. And he’s been talking about possibly selling some acreage.”

  She was looking back at me by now, and I shook my head when I said, “I don’t think that would work, even if I liked it. I don’t want to get into building. I need an existing house, cabin or whatever.”

  “Guess what!” she said, her eyes lighting up again, seemingly dancing this time “he has a cabin! It’s small but nice. I mean . . . it’s a lot bigger than this one here. Uncle Wally used to rent it out for the entire summer. The same couple used to come up from Virginia every year. But the husband died a few years back, and the wife, Mrs. Slattery, doesn’t come up here anymore. It’s been just sitting there for three years. My uncle hasn’t bothered to rent it out.”

  “Is that so?” I said, “Where is it?”

  “Rig
ht up Portland Road!” she came back, pointing to the left. “It’s only about two miles from here. There’s a dirt road that runs back into the forest. Uncle Wally lives at the end of it. He likes to tell everybody he’s got a two-mile driveway because other than the cabin I’m talking about, there aren’t any other houses. He lives all the way at the end of the road.”

  “Well . . . I don’t know. How far back is the cabin? And who plows the road when it snows in the winter?”

  “The town does most of it. They plow to the town line which is about a mile and a half back. They’re responsible for that.”

  Gina smiled like a proud little girl then, and said, “Yours truly helps do the rest. My uncle has a plow also, and between the two of us, it’s usually no problem. I give him a hand, and he gives me a few dollars. I also have fourteen driveways I plow, plus the parking lot at the store and the small one at Molly’s Café.”

  “No kidding? You really do all that?”

  “Well, why not? A girl has to do something in these parts to make a living. Between plowing snow, working at the store a couple of days a week, and a few other things, I manage to do okay for myself and my babies.”

  Again my spirits took a hit. I glanced down at her finger again, still no ring. Quickly, I looked back up at her saying, “Ohhh? I didn’t know you have children.”

  Instead of just looking at my eyes, she now looked into them. For just a second or two she appeared dead serious, as if she were trying to read my thoughts. I knew she was trying to see if the fact that she might have kids bothered me. But her face quickly lost its serious look, and she started laughing. I felt as if the hair on my head was standing up again. She even looked up there for a moment before looking back at me, waving her hand and saying, “No, Chris, I don’t have any children. I’m talking about Rex and Roxie, my two Labrador Retrievers.”