"Look, I see mountains!" Julie said as hazy lavender peaks appeared in the distance.
"Take a look at the guidebook and tell me what it says about them," Stephen suggested. He handed her a small book and she opened it to the place he had marked.
"'The Blue Ridge Mountains rise in the northeastern part of the state of Georgia,'" read Julie. "'The height of the mountains varies from two thousand to five thousand feet above sea level.'"
"And the Tallulah Gorge is a thousand feet deep," Stephen said. He gripped the steering wheel as the car climbed a grade.
He was intent on his driving, but Julie slanted a look at him through her lashes, noticing the tangle of sun-bleached hair on the backs of his hands. She turned her head away and made herself gaze out the window, although she didn't really see the scenery. She remained aware of the man beside her, of the taut fabric stretched across his muscular thighs, of the light blue tracing of veins on the inner part of his left forearm.
Uncomfortably she shifted in her seat; the blast of air from the air-conditioning vent caught the edge of her skirt and billowed it upward, exposing her leg to mid-thigh. Julie tugged a handful of capricious voile over her knees.
"A shame," Stephen said in a teasing tone.
She flushed. "Stephen, I—"
"You have very pretty legs, Juliana," he told her with a jaunty tilt to his head. He was flirting with her.
She bit her lip, suddenly shy with him. He sensed her shyness, as he so often sensed things about her.
"If I have been too forward, you must tell me. But I never have understood why, if I have seen your legs when you wear shorts as you do every day, you must pull your skirt down when it blows up."
Julie shrugged. "A quaint American custom," she said, struggling to inject a shred of humor into the situation.
"I like it when you make jokes," he said. "As long as I understand them, that is."
As they climbed the foothills, a sign pointed toward the Tallulah Point Overlook, a country store located at the side of the curvy two-lane road.
"Is this it?" Julie asked as they pulled into the parking area in front of the low building. So far it didn't look like much.
"Someday I would like to visit the Tallulah Gorge State Park and hike the trails, but today is just a quick trip to the most convenient view."
They made their way through the store and past shelves of kitschy items such as honey pots shaped like black bears and fake Indian moccasins from Taiwan. Strung along the back of the building was a long porch with telescopes mounted on stands, but Julie didn't need one to appreciate the scenery.
"It's glorious!" she exclaimed, rushing to the railing overlooking the chasm. "It's magnificent!"
The Gorge stretched out before them in all its grandeur. Cut through the rock by the mighty Tallulah River long ago, its craggy sandstone walls were plumed with the green of hardy shrubs and trees. At the bottom Julie saw the river, mighty no more. According to a plaque on the wall, the Tallulah River with its six majestic waterfalls had been dammed and diverted through an underground tunnel by the Georgia Power Company in 1913.
With the river raging in its depths, the Gorge must have been magnificent. And with the river a mere trickle below, Tallulah Gorge was still a stupefying sight, staggering in its dimensions.
"I had no idea," Stephen breathed in wonder. "I didn't think it would be like this."
The wall on the far side of the Gorge seemed to bend toward them in an optical illusion. Julie blinked, trying to focus her eyes. But it was impossible.
Stephen dropped coins into one of the telescopes. "You look first," he said.
"Magnificent," was all she could say. "I must bring Nonna here."
Stephen took his turn at the telescope while Julie inspected the plaques on the wall. "Why, Stephen," she said in surprise. "Two wire walkers have crossed the Gorge on cable. A Professor Leon walked across in 1886, and Karl Wallenda in 1970. Did you know that?"
"I remember hearing something about it," Stephen said vaguely. She shot him a sharp look. He was training the telescope on a faraway mountain peak, so she returned her attention to the written information. It surprised her that he wasn't more interested in Professor Leon and Karl Wallenda, but perhaps even Stephen welcomed a break from talk about walking the wire.
Stephen straightened when the telescope clicked off. "Well, Juliana, now you have seen Tallulah Gorge. Sam told me of a good restaurant about twenty miles north of here. I'm hungry, how about you?"
"I will be by the time we get there," she said, flashing a smile up at him. They were having a good time, at ease with each other as they had never been around the others. Or with each other, for that matter.
Julie found it easy to talk to Stephen when he wasn't pressing her to return to the wire. It made her sad that they couldn't have normal conversations more often. She'd have liked to know more about his boyhood and what he considered the major influences on his life other than the Andrassys. Maybe today she'd have a chance to find out some of the more intriguing things about him.
The restaurant that Stephen had chosen was a family-style inn in Dillard. The hostess told them that it had existed since before the Civil War, when its proprietors had provided food and lodging for travelers crossing the Blue Ridge.
"Thank goodness for Sam," Julie said when they were seated and their table was cluttered with piled-high plates of hearty country food. "He really knows what he's talking about in the food department."
"Sam doesn't have a food department," Stephen said, wrinkling his brow. "He's a high school student."
Julie smiled. "That's just a saying. An idiom. I meant that Sam is well-informed.
"Oh. Juliana, you must be impatient with having to explain these things."
"I enjoy it." When he appeared doubtful, she reached across the table and impulsively touched his hand. "Really," she said, and when she realized that her touch had provided a level of intimacy that hadn't previously been part of the afternoon, she let her hand fall away.
Stephen was surprised at the warmth of her gesture. In light of it, he was at a loss to understand why Julie grew increasingly distracted during the meal. She seemed preoccupied, gazing out the window at the brick buildings of a school that adorned the hills on the other side of the road. The rapidly encroaching twilight dimmed the shapes of the mountain peaks in the distance; soon it would be dark.
"What's on your mind, Juliana?" Stephen asked. She was looking much too pensive in the atmosphere of food and conviviality that surrounded them.
"Just thinking," she answered.
"Now, Juliana," Stephen said reproachfully. "You must stop that. This is supposed to be a break from routine for us. And what would you be thinking about when we are eating this delicious meal and having a pleasant time?"
Her gaze met his. It wasn't the whole truth, but she said, "I keep thinking about those wire walkers crossing Tallulah Gorge. How difficult it must have been with the added problem of the optical illusion. And how lucky they were to have crossed it successfully."
A guardedness flashed into Stephen's eyes; then, just as quickly, it was gone. He took a second helping of mashed potatoes.
"Oh?" he said, communicating only mild interest.
"I wonder how they could have attempted it."
"It was their choice," Stephen said philosophically. "Would you like more corn? It is very good."
Julie waved the bowl of creamed corn away. "I respect their choice, their desire to practice their art. I just don't understand it."
"Well," Stephen said, momentarily at a loss for words. "Choices are good, aren't they?"
"Not always."
"Does this have something to do with the family profession?" He had an idea that with Julie, most things did.
She nodded unhappily. "You're born an Andrassy. So you're trained to go on the high wire. Period."
"I was not born an Andrassy, and I had a choice. My choice was to walk the wire. To defy nature, to entertain an audience with my
daring—this seemed important and right."
"Oh, Stephen, it was different for you."
"I suppose so," he said carefully.
"I've thought about it a lot," Julie went on in a low tone. "About being born an Andrassy and having so much expected of me. Maybe I would have made a good nurse. Taking care of Nonna makes me think I might have been. Or a lab scientist. Do you know that I was very good at chemistry in high school? I had the top marks in my class. Or—well, there are any number of things I might have done with my life." She spoke earnestly, her ebony eyes flashing.
Stephen's eyes registered understanding. "You do resent it, don't you?"
Julie nodded. "Seeing the rest of you go off to practice day after day has brought out emotions I've buried for a long time. Not just the fear, but the anger. I'm angry, Stephen! I'm furious that I had no choice in the matter!"
Stephen could not speak. Julie's emotion was genuine, and her outburst saddened him.
He chose his words carefully. "Now I know why you hated me so when I tried to convince you to rejoin the act. Maybe you can get over these feelings, now that you've identified them. Do you think it is possible?" A frown line creased Stephen's forehead. He was worried about her.
"I never hated you, Stephen. Never!"
"At first you only put up with me because of Nonna."
"No, no." She shook her head vigorously. She couldn't bear it if he really thought that.
"Juliana, I have always been sorry to cause you pain. But now—now you do have a choice. And you chose not to join us on the wire. So you see, everything is all right now."
Sudden tears blurred her eyes. All she could see was a sheaf of dark tousled hair across the table and a pair of brilliant blue eyes that reflected sympathy and understanding.
"Yes," she said slowly. "I suppose it is." After speaking of things she had never been free to discuss before, she felt as though a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Still, she carried another load—one of guilt. And that, she knew, could never be lightened.
"I think," Stephen said, "that we have had enough to eat."
Julie blinked to clear the tears from her eyes and glanced down at her plate. "That's one thing in which I disagree with you. I hardly ate a thing."
Surprised at the wryness of her tone, Stephen smiled indulgently. He sensed that a barrier had been crossed. "Finish your dinner, Juliana. I am in no hurry."
Julie ate, relaxing, enjoying his company. Several women passing their table let their eyes linger on Stephen longer than necessary, and Julie realized suddenly that she enjoyed being in the company of such a handsome man. She didn't date often. She didn't consider this time with Stephen an actual date. But she enjoyed being envied by other women who were impressed by Stephen's wholesome good looks.
After dinner they drove home slowly, feeling their closeness build. The space between them was alive with unuttered feelings, unvoiced thoughts. They could have talked, could have filled the silence with words and phrases. But it didn't seem necessary.
Julie did not speak as Stephen turned the car into the driveway next to the mailbox that said "Andrassy." But her nerves felt strung tight, and she felt anxious about what was going to happen next.
Stephen slowed the car at a curve, and before she knew it, he had turned out the lights and let the car glide to a stop beneath a tall oak tree. It was quiet except for the shrill song of insects in the shrubbery.
"Juliana, I—" Stephen removed his hands from the wheel and let them lie passively on his thighs while he collected his thoughts. What to say to her? What could he say that could express his feelings for her? She was, quite simply, the woman he loved. The woman he loved. The words throbbed in his eardrums, sounding strange but right. There had never been a woman whom he loved before.
He reached toward her slowly, watching her expression. His finger touched her cheek. Her skin was as soft as silk.
She bent toward him as though unable to stop herself, her hands finding their way up his arms and past his collar until they enclosed his face and she said, "Oh, Stephen." His lips found hers, covered them; she was moist and warm, her lips opening to his, and he kissed her as though he were a man deprived—which of course he was, a man deprived all his life of this Julie, this Juliana.
His muscles strained in the uncomfortable position until finally Julie pulled away and reached down to pull a lever that made the seat go back.
"That is better," he said, reaching for her again. Her arms went around him. "That's better, too," he told her approvingly before lowering his lips to hers.
Julie's dress rustled against the upholstery of the seat as she tried to find a more comfortable position.
"This is not good," Stephen said, releasing her lips. "My foot is going to sleep."
"My arm, too." Julie moved to tug her arm away, the one that was pinned between Stephen's side and the seat.
"But I do like kissing you," Stephen said, preparing to do it again.
Julie succumbed, helpless and weak with desire. His lips cooled the heat within her—no, made it worse—and she clung to him, swept with yearning. He was an expert at kissing, and his kisses were laced with a tantalizing tenderness. Then his lips pursued a breathy path to her throat, and she heard herself moan, sounding so far away. His light beard abraded her skin; he whispered her name as only he could say it, and she closed her eyes and focused on his lips while her hands swept upward and tangled in his hair.
"Juliana," he said. "This is not the way I want this to happen. Cramped in your car, parked on the driveway to your cousin's house."
Julie fought for control. Stephen sat up straight and pulled her along with him, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close. It felt so good to be held like that.
"I can think of several more reasons that this isn't a good idea," she agreed.
"Name a few. Perhaps you will convince me."
"One, anyone could come along now. Sam arriving home from a date, Michael and his family on their way back from the lake."
"That's only two reasons."
"Three, I don't want you to have any power over me."
"That's not why I want to kiss you. Power had not entered my mind."
"It could. Four, you're some kind of relation."
"Not a blood relative at all." He nuzzled her cheek. "I would like to have relations with you, that is certain." His voice held a hint of teasing.
She dodged his lips. "The point is that we can't stay here," she said primly, her voice trembling.
He sighed. "So. We must go. I understand." He traced her eyebrow with his little finger and smiled at her in the darkness.
She leaned her forehead against his. "Maybe it's just as well. I need to think about this, Stephen. You've been my friend, but it would be different between us if you were my lover."
"I know." His eyes were serious. "It would change everything. Do you not want things to change for us, Juliana?"
"I like us the way we are," she answered truthfully, trying to ignore the passion that had been so easily ignited. "I like having someone I can talk to about the things I've never spoken about before. You do understand what I mean, don't you?" She searched his face anxiously.
"Yes, my Juliana." He intuitively sensed that Julie wasn't rejecting him as much as she was clinging to the hope that someday she might be able to speak the words that would unlock the pain she hid in her heart. When that day came, Stephen wanted to be the one in whom she confided.
"We will go home now. And I think that we don't need to rush this thing between us. Perhaps we need to back off a bit, no?"
"That would be a yes."
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I think I have found my best friend, Juliana. It is you."
Julie was unbelievably touched. Whatever was between them, it was undeniably good. She hoped that when he knew more about her, he would still want her for his best friend.
"Thank you, Stephen," she said softly. "For being such a nice person." She leaned over a
nd kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled fondly. "It is easy to be a nice person around you," he told her. She slid her hand into his and squeezed it companionably. He squeezed back. Her hand nestled inside his as though it belonged to him, and there it stayed as Stephen drove slowly to the house.
Chapter 6
His concentration on his task was absolute; when Stephen Andrassy walked on a high wire, nothing intruded on his mind. This ability to concentrate was acquired, not a gift. And because he had worked so hard to learn to focus his very being on the cable, nothing but the cable, he treasured this skill above all others.
Below, the rest of the performing troupe watched, their faces upturned. They held their breath. Stephen walked with pride and confidence. So, too, did they.
On the edge of his consciousness Stephen was aware of them, but only just aware. He became part of the wire. It swayed; he swayed. It lived for him, an entity unto itself. His mystical union with it, a model of classical perfection, was something few other human beings understood.
He leaped onto the platform with characteristic grace and ease as the group beneath him burst into applause.
"That," he said, calling down to them, "is the way it is to be done. With lightness. With concentration. Any time you do not concentrate, you put the lives of your family at risk. If you cannot concentrate, you must not walk the wire. It is as simple—and as difficult—as that." He set his balancing pole carefully on the platform and nimbly descended the ladder.
"Now," he said, after a quick assessment of ominously dark clouds churning toward them, "we will take a break. It looks as though it is going to rain, and the rigging in the barn is not ready. We meet again in the morning as usual."
The others, laughing and talking, hurried away as swiftly as children unexpectedly let out of school. Stephen lingered, adjusting a stake here, tugging at a guy line there. He licked a finger and held it up to test the wind. He didn't like the way it was gusting. He made a few minor adjustments to the rigging, taking his time. He'd rather that the others went ahead to the house. For once he didn't feel like being with them. He wanted to think.
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