Pleased to Meet Me

by J. L. Salter

  “Right, so he’s hit by a tree. But what happened to me?”

  Wilder reached for her hand and searched her eyes. “Stacy, the constable said you both were attacked and you were abducted.”

  “Abducted?” She gasped as she pulled her hand back and clutched her own torso. “By whom?”

  “Mr. Bishop didn’t know, but when he came to, you were gone.”

  “Maybe I ran for help.”

  Wilder’s head was already shaking. “When Mr. Bishop was found, all his valuables were gone.”

  “Where was he found?”

  “Much farther down the mountain than the area you woke up in, as best as I can figure.”

  “So my husband was whacked and robbed and I was taken farther up the mountain?” Tears filled her eyes. “What did they do to me?”

  “Don’t know. Other than the conk on your head—which is presumably the cause of your memory loss—you seemed to be okay when you reached my place, remember?”

  “Well, I was pretty much out of it ‘til the next morning.”

  “True, but there were no broken bones. No visible bruises. No, uh, indications you’d been tied up or anything.”

  “And you evidently examined me pretty closely.”

  He cleared his throat with embarrassment. “Just checking for injuries.”

  “Wait. Do the timelines check out?” She instinctively looked about the room. “What day did I show up here?”

  Wilder pointed to a small calendar above his sink. “You stumbled into my clearing and knocked at my door on Friday night, which was April thirteenth.”

  “Figures. So when did whoever find my husband?”

  “That same night apparently...well, during the early dark morning in that awful storm. Constable Wyatt said when Bishop came to, he wandered down Hardscrabble for a couple of hours before somebody spotted him near the bottom of the mountain. The flyers went up that same mid-day—Saturday.”

  “Did you get any idea where we were attacked?”

  “No. The constable said Bishop just remembered you had stopped for a break. Water and a brief rest. Sat on a log near the dirt road. Of course that road became a river of mud later Friday evening.”

  “I don’t remember any of that. And don’t recall seeing anybody. Wonder why we were hiking in such a wild area?”

  “Do you and your husband exercise a lot?”

  “I don’t know. My legs feel like they’re in reasonably good shape.”

  “And they certainly look it.”

  She blushed.

  He resumed work on his brunchwich.

  “So, in the driving rain storm he wandered down and I was taken up?”

  “Apparently.”

  “The person or persons who took me. Any idea who they might be?”

  “Not really. Could be city thugs for all I know. They don’t necessarily live on Hardscrabble.” Wilder took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.

  “The creeps who attacked my husband and abducted me. What did they want?”

  “Well they got all his valuables, and yours. So robbery is a good bet for part of it.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  He shook his head.

  None of it made sense. “No, seriously. What did they want with me?”

  “You know.” He averted his eyes. “Unfortunately, it’s only too common.”

  “You mean ra…?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stacy hugged her own torso again and shivered.

  “Calm down. Your clothes weren’t torn...I mean not any more than briars would have done. You used the bathroom that next morning. Did you see or feel any, uh, injury down there?”

  Tears falling, she shook her head.

  “Okay, then. If that was their motive, they didn’t get around to it, or you escaped before anything worse could happen.”

  Or maybe they were just looking for a dry shelter from the storm.

  Obviously uncomfortable with their conversation, Wilder stood and moved to the front window.

  It took her several moments to settle down. “Well, after I got away from them, why do you suppose I started going up the mountain, instead of down?”

  “No idea. You said you’re a writer. Can you think of a reason?”

  “Not really. Oh, wait. Maybe to get high enough to see which direction the town was?” Phrased as a statement, her intonation turned it into a question.

  “Makes sense to me. Hardscrabble’s a big mountain. Nothing but woods at the bottom, almost all the rest of the way around its base ‘til the extreme east side. That was good thinking.”

  “I don’t believe I was thinking. I remember panic. There were noises in the woods that terrified me. Plus, I was soaking wet and freezing.”

  “Yeah, you were a real mess when I first laid eyes on you.”

  “Thank you…” Her reply nearly caught in her throat. “…for taking me in.”

  He nodded silently.

  “I know it’s been inconvenient having to step over an extra body.”

  “Wasn’t so bad. I haven’t had much company since Maggie died.”

  She leaned closer and extended a comforting hand toward his shoulder. “What happened to Maggie?”

  He paused before replying. “I buried her under that spreading oak, out back.”

  “You what?” She retracted her hand as though she’d been bitten.

  “She liked that spot.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Natural causes, I guess.”

  “Wasn’t there an autopsy?”

  He cocked his head slightly. “No need. She basically died of old age.”

  “How old was she?”

  He paused to calculate.

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Your wife keeled over from an advanced age that you can’t even remember, and you buried her under a tree?”

  “No.” He groaned. “I may be a grizzled mountain man but I didn’t marry my dog.”

  “Maggie was your dog?”

  “Sure. A yellow Lab. What did you think?”

  “I thought Maggie was that woman in the picture.”

  “What picture?”

  Stacy pointed toward his dresser.

  “Oh. That’s my sister, standing next to Maggie.”

  “I’d been wondering why I never saw a dog. I did notice a big bowl out front on the porch. How long ago was it?”

  “About six months ago. Back in October.”

  “Guess it’s been pretty lonely.”

  “I still have Beethoven.” He pointed outside.

  She followed with her eyes. “What does your rooster do while he’s outside anyway?”

  Cody shrugged. “He’s free range...does what he wants. When he gets his new girlfriend soon, he’ll be pretty occupied.”

  Indeed. She rose from the table and collected her brunch dishes. Wilder was still working on his meal.

  “Stacy,” said Wilder, as he later stood very close and examined her face carefully, “You’ve just received the first actual information about your real life since the incident three days ago wiped out your memory...and you’re here asking me questions. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  It was indeed, but she couldn’t contemplate that now. The outline of the life which had returned with Wilder up the mountain road this morning didn’t feel in any way familiar...and it frightened her. What if she resumed her real existence and didn’t even like it? No, it was safer to distract herself by learning more about her mountain man host. “Ever thought about getting another dog...you know, for company?”

  He stared for a moment, possibly not comprehending her confusion. Then he smiled and replied, “It’s crossed my mind, but I’m not quite ready yet. Maggie and I were very close.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Do you have any pets in Johnson City?”

  “Not sure. I believe I like animals, but I have a sense it’s somewhat abstract.”

  “Abstract?”

  “Ot
her people’s pets, maybe.” She sighed heavily. “Not sure, though. I just don’t have any animal memories yet.”

  “They’ll come back. It’ll all come back, probably.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m not a neurosurgeon, but what I read suggests that, absent a major injury, usually the memory is fully recovered...in time.”

  “Wonder if I’ll remember by the time we get down this mountain.”

  Wilder seemed to choose his words carefully. “Are you, um, comfortable about all this new information we’ve discovered?”

  She thought a moment before replying. “The whole attack and abduction thing is still too crazy and scary to grapple with. But the city feels right. My name is starting to sound familiar. But I guess I’m also surprised at the married part.”

  “You didn’t think you were a spinster…” He took another big bite of his sandwich and chewed aggressively.

  “No. Not that. In fact, I have a notion that I’m a mom.”

  “Specific memory?”

  “No, just a feeling, deep down in here.” She pointed toward her womb.

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Not sure.”

  “How old?”

  “Don’t know.” She shook her head sadly. “Nonetheless, a mom.”

  “But not married.”

  She shook her head slowly. “If it weren’t for my husband passing out flyers in that little town, I would’ve guessed maybe I’m divorced.”

  Wilder wiped his mouth with an unadorned cotton napkin. “But you’re intent that you’re a writer?”

  “That feels more certain than anything so far.”

  “Even the motherhood thing?”

  She nodded. “I sense the writer thing here in my soul.” She started to point but stopped and laughed. “Where is the soul anyway?”

  “Some say the heart, but others think your soul is through your eyes.”

  “Well, look into my soul and tell me what else you can discern.”

  He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward. Gazing deeply into her eyes, Wilder suddenly looked troubled and turned away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He removed his hand.

  “You saw something.”

  “Not really.” He started to rise. “Just a flicker of light.”

  “No.” She clutched his hand again. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “I’m not a fortune teller, Stacy. And my county fair experience doesn’t cover this kind of thing.”

  “What did you see?” She squeezed his hand tighter.

  “Okay…nothing specific.” His words sounded carefully measured. “But I think your life in Washington County involves considerable sadness.”

  She jerked backwards in her chair. “What do you mean? How can you say that? I don’t believe you.” She stood abruptly, her hands uncertain what to do. “I’m sure I’m happy.”

  “Either way...how would you know?”

  “I don’t.” But I guess I’ll find out when we hit town.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you, but you insisted.”

  “Forget it.” She prowled about the cabin feeling she needed at least three times the space to pace properly. “So is that bucket of bolts ready or not?”

  He took a final bite of his sandwich. “I’ll go give it another try.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As Wilder worked alternately on the vehicle and in his barn, Stacy remained indoors and fumed. “So I’m Stacy Bishop, I live in Johnson City, somewhere in Washington County—neither of which I recall whatsoever—and he figures I’m desperately unhappy,” she said to herself. “Why was I crawling around on this stupid mountainside?”

  It also bothered her that she couldn’t remember being accosted. Yet, even as that occurred to her, she realized maybe it was one aspect of the entire experience she’d want to forget. A splitting headache convinced her to lie down on Wilder’s bed for a few minutes.

  When she awoke, likely more than an hour later (though she was only guessing since no clock was visible), Stacy opened the heavy front door to check on Wilder’s progress with the vehicle. “Any luck?” she called from the porch.

  His replies were mostly curses she hadn’t heard lately.

  Looked like it might be a while and, judging from the sun’s position, it was probably around one o’clock. After only coffee and a brunch sandwich, she was still hungry. “Want me to start a late lunch?”

  He pulled his head out from under the metal hood and smiled. “What can you cook?”

  “What do you have?”

  “You’ve seen most of my inventory and it’s pretty simple. You’ll figure it out.” He returned to his mechanical effort.

  After about half an hour, Stacy’s late lunch was basically a souped-up soup. She’d found a can of broth in the pantry, added several chunks of ham, and chopped up a leftover baked potato Wilder had not used for his Mulligan stew Saturday evening. It had been wrapped in tin foil and left in the refrigerator, one of his few electrical appliances.

  Leaving the rooster outside, Wilder entered quietly, possibly wondering if Stacy had gotten over her hurt feelings.

  His apparent discomfort made her feel awful. “I’m sorry I, uh, overreacted.”

  He shrugged his wide shoulders as he washed his hands at the sink, then took a seat and began sipping the stew. “Tastes pretty good. What do you call it?”

  “Leftover Redux,” she said, trying to brighten the moment with a smile.

  “You city girls seem to have a different eating cycle than I follow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We just had brunch a few hours ago.”

  Not knowing the clock time was killing her. “Maybe I eat when I’m upset.”

  Wilder returned to his meal without comment.

  “Any progress with that contraption?”

  “Not sure. Might be willing to cooperate.” He took a few more noisy slurps with his spoon and then basically drained the bowl’s remainder into his mouth. Then he swallowed hard. “After you rinse the dishes, come on out and we’ll try it again.”

  “Sure.” She hadn’t eaten much herself, but took a few final spoonfuls, the warm stew sliding down smoothly. “Be right there.”

  Wilder went back outside and was checking the engine compartment for his tools when Stacy stepped off the porch. The rooster waddled over to investigate, but did not peck her.

  “Okay, what do I do?”

  “Get in. When I give the word, crank it. I’ll cover up the intake and see if that helps the mixture.” He made a final adjustment, seemed satisfied, and signaled for her to turn the key. Nothing on the first try, a sputter on the second. But on the third—bingo! When the engine finally roared to life, Beethoven squawked and flapped his wings. Wilder yanked open the door, put his own boot on the gas pedal, shoved Stacy over to the other seat, and jumped inside. Then he revved the accelerator. “About time! I’ve been working on this stupid thing the whole stinking day.”

  Eyeing the gauges in the dashboard, he spoke loudly over the noisy engine. “You ready to gather up your stuff and make another effort to descend Hardscrabble?”

  “I don’t have anything to pack except what I’m wearing.”

  He tried letting up on the accelerator, but the engine acted like its idle was not strong enough and threatened to shut down. So he revved it again. “Put Beethoven in the barn. Run inside and get my revolver. And close the door with the bar in place.”

  Her eyes widened. The rooster part bothered her most. “Uh, how about I hold down the pedal and you close up shop here?”

  Wilder exhaled heavily. “Okay, but do not let it die.” Brusquely, he grabbed her left thigh just above the knee and pulled her foot over the transmission channel.

  The feel of his tight grip on her leg was hot and electric.

  “Now ease your foot up the pedal while I slide mine off the top. Keep it revved up.”

  She certainly felt revved. An
d his hand was still on her jeans-covered knee.

  When he finally pulled away his boot, he listened for the engine level and then released her knee. Then a light pat on her thigh. “Okay, keep it right there and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  He jumped out, left the vehicle door open, and hurriedly set about those tasks.

  As Stacy waited, she pondered who else she might see down in Boar Mount. Maybe she had other relatives who’d gathered once they learned she was missing. Would there be a parent? Were her parents even living? Couldn’t recall. Possibly the child she’d been sensing. Certainly, she’d want to see them all, whoever they may be. But the lump in her throat was about this husband she couldn’t remember. How would it be to see him again?

  ****

  Having completed two of his three tasks, Cody stopped in the cabin doorway and, as though he’d been hit by a lightning bolt, remembered something else. “Can you hold that rev for another few minutes?” he yelled toward Stacy in the vehicle.

  She gave him the thumbs-up sign...another bit of cultural memory she’d obviously retained.

  Cody turned abruptly and raced back inside. This was not necessarily part of his normal preparation for a trip to Boar Mount, but he did it every two or three weeks just because.

  Shaving. First a quick run-through with the battery-powered clippers...down to a stubble so short it would be difficult to measure. Then he used the finest setting to trim around his neck. Finally, he vigorously brushed his teeth.

  After a flurry of activity over some four minutes, he emerged on the porch again. Stacy hadn’t even noticed the difference yet. Using his secret rigging, he positioned the inside bar from the outside, then trotted down the steps, trying not to smile.

  Her eyes lit up. “Going somewhere special?” she asked, as he approached.

  “I shave every now and then,” he replied. “Well, trim, anyway.”

  “Every time you trek down to visit Bambi?”

  One hand on the open vehicle door and his other on the back of its driver’s seat, he leaned inside and said, “For you, Stacy.”

  That shut her up.

  Shortly, Cody was back in the driver’s seat, the revolver and holster stowed in the back. He clutched her leg again and guided the transition from her foot on the pedal to his. “All set?”