by Lin Stepp
Giving in to the joy of the moment, she laughed, pushing at him playfully before she sat down on the bed to pull her strappy sandals off.
“Want me to do that?” Rhea looked up to see Carter’s eyes watching her legs.
“No. Definitely not.”
“You sure?” He started to improvise again from Gershwin, teasingly twisting the lyrics of one of the song’s romantic lines.
Rhea threw a pillow at him, but she caught herself snickering as she did it. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Only with you, Rhea.” He sat back down in the window seat, studying her thoughtfully now. “You know, I’m jealous Marshall took you to Gershwin instead of me.”
Rhea thought about the past evening and all that happened with Marshall and frowned in annoyance.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Carter asked.
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Marshall with Carter!
Changing the subject, she said, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until next week.”
“Taylor and I came back early.”
“I see.” She went over to the dresser to take the earrings out of her ears and to unclasp the bracelet on her wrist. Rhea could feel Carter watching her, and it vexed her how her blood churned even when he simply sat in the room. She didn’t need this.
“Carter, I really can’t deal with another scene tonight,” she said before she thought. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Will you leave?”
“Sure.” To her surprise, he stood and pulled up the window so he could climb out. “I just dropped by because I wanted to ask if you would go hiking to Hen Wallow Falls with Taylor and me tomorrow.”
Rhea hesitated, surprised.
“I know you have to do the tour in the morning but I thought we could go right after lunch.” He gave her an appealing look. “Taylor asked if I would invite you. He wants you to come.”
“Taylor wanted to invite me?” She gave Carter a suspicious look.
He lifted his hands. “No kidding, it’s the truth. He likes you.” He grinned at her. “He said if I was scared to ask you, then he would.”
She giggled. “He really said that?”
“He did.” Carter laughed, but then his face grew serious. “Taylor had sort of a bad time during our visit in California. Memories troubling him. Some difficulty with Morgan, his grandfather. I cooked up the idea of this hike as a way to cheer him up, and he said he wanted you to come with us.”
He paused. “It would mean a lot to me if you would say yes—for Taylor’s sake.”
Rhea unbuttoned her vest, slipped it off, and hung it on a hanger. Carter watched her and waited for her answer.
He walked over closer to her where he could look into her eyes. “Whatever has happened between us, Rhea, it isn’t Taylor’s fault. He’s just a little kid, caught in the middle—a good, sweet boy who’s been through a difficult time—wanting desperately to be happy again.” He sighed. “I wish you could look at him and not see Judith.”
Rhea bristled. “That’s really not fair. I don’t dislike Taylor.”
His eyes studied hers. “But you’ve held back from really enjoying him like you do most kids. I’ve watched it.”
She felt remorseful at his words.
He obviously saw the change in her face. “Taylor hasn’t picked up on it,” he assured her. “But I have. That’s why I’d really like you to say yes to this.”
“You’d stoop to emotional blackmail to get me to go?”
He shrugged, lifting his hands, but a smile tugged at his lips.
“Oh, okay, I’ll go. You and Taylor can pick me up here at one. That will give me time to do the tour, change clothes, and get a bite of lunch before we leave.”
He grinned, swooping in to kiss her on the mouth before she could stop him, swirling her around in his arms.
Rhea swatted at him with one hand but her other hand crept, against her will, into Carter’s hair to draw him closer. Why was it only Carter who made her blood hum like this? Why not Marshall?
He leaned back to look down into her eyes with a cocky grin. “I kiss better than Marshall, don’t I?”
She shoved him away in annoyance. “Go home, Carter.”
He laughed as he walked over to the window to climb out. “I’ll see you tomorrow at one.”
As he slipped out of sight over the windowsill, she turned to start unbuttoning her skirt.
“Rhea?” She heard his voice from the tree by the roof.
“What?” Rhea went over to the window to lean out where she could see him.
“He’s not right for you.” His face looked serious. “I’m not just saying that because I love you, but because he’s wrong for you in every way. He’ll make you unhappy. I don’t want that.”
With that, he dropped down from the tree to stride off through the yard under the trees.
Rhea stood there, a hand to her throat. Had he just said “I love you,” and if he did, whatever did he mean by it?
Weary with too many emotions in one evening, Rhea turned back into her room to get ready for bed. As she slipped into sleep, she dreamed. In her dream she danced to old Gershwin tunes, first with Marshall and then with Carter, until the changing of partners and the pace of the dancing grew so frenzied it woke her.
And then she cried.
CHAPTER 12
On Saturday morning, Carter sat on the screened porch behind his parents’ house reading the newspaper and drinking a second cup of coffee. His mother rustled around the kitchen, cleaning up from breakfast, and he could hear the quiet hum of conversation between her and his father. His Grampa, eager to see if all the work at the church was complete, had left after a quick snack.
Carter looked out under the big oaks, where Taylor and Jinx played a game of fetch with a ratty tennis ball. It felt good to hear Taylor’s happy laughter again, mixed with Jinx’s exuberant barks.
He flipped through Friday’s newspaper after studying the Saturday morning edition. He’d missed several days being away in California. He needed to start catching up on local happenings again, to start meshing back into the community.
His eyes slid over the local news items—new bank branch opening, local teacher given an award, rockslide slowing traffic on a section of the Foothills Parkway. Flipping the page, he started reading one of the local columns about the Carver orchards and the Carver’s Applehouse Restaurant. Carter scanned the history of the orchard with interest, enjoying the account of Kyle Carver starting the orchard by hand-grafting and planting apple trees in his cornfield in the 1940s. Now the orchard of over forty thousand trees sat on seventy-five acres, with 126 varieties of apples.
He remembered that old gray barn on the hill filled with a wide variety of apples in season—plus fruit pies, apple butter, and apple cider. He used to love to go eat the breakfast special with eggs, grits, biscuits, gravy, and apple fritters at the Applehouse Restaurant. He’d have to take Taylor there one morning—and to the sweet shop across from the barn afterward.
Enjoying the article and the journalist’s writing style, Carter scanned to the top of the column for a name. Rhea Kaden Dean, he read. “What!” Carter sloshed his coffee out of his cup in surprise.
He looked again. There was no mistake. Rhea’s name appeared right under the article title.
Carter carried the paper into the kitchen. “There’s an article in Friday’s paper by Rhea.” He held it out toward his mother. “Did you and Dad see it?”
His mother looked up at him abstractly. “Oh, of course, Carter. We always read Rhea’s Friday column.”
He pulled the paper back and studied it again. “You mean, she’s been writing a column in the paper for some time. Why didn’t you mention it?”
His mother spread marmalade on a biscuit. “I’m sure I mentioned it to you at some point or other. Rhea’s been doing that little column for about seven or eight years now.” She took a bite of the biscuit. “You probably
just forgot.”
His father picked up the conversation they’d been having before he interrupted, about picking sweet corn later in the day and whether they should freeze or can it this time.
Carter walked back to the porch and read the article again. It was very well written. He prided himself on knowing Rhea as few did, and here was a part of her he was completely unacquainted with.
Curious now, Carter walked across the backyard to the main barn to locate the old woodbin where his parents piled newspapers for recycling. After digging through the bin for other Friday editions of the Newport Plain Talk, Carter carried several past editions back to the porch with him.
Rhea called the column Now and Then. It seemed to focus on local places, bits of history, and old-time arts and crafts. He found an article on beekeeping, one on the history of the railroad into Newport, another on early mountain customs, and one on waterfalls. He settled in to read the latter one. In it Rhea clarified the difference between a cascade and a waterfall and talked about several falls and cascades around the area, while tucking in historical information and charming descriptions.
“Well, I’ll be danged.” He laid down the article, shaking his head with wonder. He remembered Rhea writing in diaries with little keys as a young girl and working on the school annual and newspaper in high school, but he could never recall her talking about wishing to write more seriously.
There’s more to how this came about, that’s for sure, he thought.
Taylor banged open the screened door to come in, Jinx slipping in behind him before the door shut again.
“When are we going hiking, Dad?”
Carter laid the paper down. “After lunch. I told you. Rhea has to do the tour this morning.”
“I forgot.” Taylor slumped down in a chair and reached for the glass of juice he’d left on the table earlier.
Carter leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Listen, sport, I need to remind you about our rules for this hike. You have to promise to mind the rules or we might not go.”
“I know, Dad.” Taylor rolled his eyes. “Be safe, be polite to Rhea, don’t eat anything on the trail like mushrooms or wild stuff, don’t get in the water with your clothes on, and don’t whine.”
Carter grinned. “And don’t go more than a few yards ahead of us on the trail, like when we walk on the beach. It’s important that you keep us in sight.”
Taylor nodded over the top of his juice glass.
“It’s a two-mile hike to the falls, Taylor. The hike in gets a little steep in a couple of places, but the walk out is easier.”
“I can do it, Dad. Don’t worry.” He grinned. “We walk more than that lots of times.”
“Yeah, I know, but walking in the mountains is different from walking for miles on a flat beach.”
Taylor nodded, and then with the quickly changing interest span of a six-year-old, Taylor switched topics. “Can I go over and play with Beau for a while this morning until he and his dad have to go to football practice?”
“Sure. Call Beau and see if it’s all right and I’ll run you over.”
A few hours later, at 1:00 p.m., Carter pulled up in Rhea’s driveway to pick her up for the hike. He found her sitting on the front steps, ready and waiting.
“Hi, Rhea!” Taylor called.
“Hi, back.” Rhea walked over and let herself into the front seat of the car. She looked around appreciatively. “You sure it’s safe to take this vintage convertible over to the Cosby Campground area? You’ll have to park and leave it for a couple of hours.”
Taylor answered, leaning across the front seat. “It’s okay. We take it everywhere.” The boy sat back and buckled up as Carter began turning around in the driveway.
Carter’s eyes slid over Rhea as he drove back down the Deans’ driveway. She wore dark green khaki shorts, a white T-shirt, and hiking boots. The golden tan of her legs glistened in the sun, and she’d tied her rich honey-brown hair in a ponytail for the hike. Her cheeks still held a pink tinge from being in the sunshine earlier with the assembly tour.
He loved having her sit beside him in his car again. It brought back a sweep of happy memories.
“How’d the tour go?” he asked.
“About the same as usual.” As the car gained speed around the lake, she took the ball cap she’d been carrying and put it on her head, tucking her ponytail into the back.
It took less than twenty minutes to drive from Laurel Springs down Highway 32 into the Cosby Campground area. They parked at the picnic grounds, made a pit stop at the campground bathrooms, and then found the Gabes Mountain Trail leading to Hen Wallow Falls across the road.
“Look, Dad, Rhea’s got a waist pack like me.”
Without waiting for an answer, Taylor asked Rhea, “What’s in your pack, Rhea?”
“A water bottle, tissues, ChapStick, a hiking map, and a small towel.” She turned to smile at the child. “What’s in yours?”
He grinned back. “Water, some snacks, and a boat to play with at the falls. Dad has all the rest of our stuff in his big pack.”
Rhea raised her eyebrows at Carter.
“I have all the basics for a hike, plus a towel and a change of clothes for Taylor.” He chuckled. “You can never tell with six-year-olds around water.”
Rhea laughed as they settled into a single-file arrangement heading up the trail, Taylor enthusiastically leading the way, Carter next, and Rhea at the rear. They talked happily as they walked, enjoying the balmy summer day.
“Gabes Mountain Trail winds up through a wooded valley between Round Mountain and Snake Den Mountain in its early miles and then winds up and over Gabes Mountain,” Carter told Taylor.
Taylor squinted up the trail ahead. “Are we going that far?”
“No. We’re only hiking 2.2 miles to the falls.”
“Is that far?” Taylor obviously didn’t have much concept of distance yet at six.
“It’s far for a six-year-old if you remember we’ll need to hike the same distance back.”
“Two and two is four and some more makes it almost five.” Taylor turned around to grin. “Five miles is far, isn’t it?”
Carter nodded, and Taylor romped ahead up the trail.
Carter turned to smile at Rhea. “Taylor asks a lot of questions.”
She smiled back. “I’m used to Beau. Don’t worry. He can’t ask more questions than Beau does.”
He turned back to watch the trail ahead, happy to be having a day with Rhea. In their teens, they’d hiked all the trails near Cosby, Greenbrier, and Deep Creek, and then explored farther into other areas of the mountains.
“I wonder how many times we hiked this trail when we were younger?”
“More than I can remember,” she answered. “Our parents brought us here the first time when we were little, and later we often hiked it on our own.”
“There’s a bridge up ahead over a creek!” Taylor shouted as they found the first log bridge on the Gabes Mountain Trail.
A mile up the trail they found another. “This is Crying Creek,” Carter told Taylor as they walked across the creek.
“That’s a funny name.” Taylor wrinkled his nose. “How come it’s called that, Dad?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Rhea answered. “An old legend tells that when two brothers were on a bear hunt in this area, one accidentally shot the other in the dark here.”
Taylor’s mouth dropped open. “You mean he shot him dead?”
“Yes.” Rhea nodded. “It was an accident, of course, but a sad one. So that’s where the name ‘Crying Creek’ came from.”
“Tell me another story.” Taylor dropped back to walk with Rhea.
“Well.” She stopped to think. “The waterfall we’re going to is called Hen Wallow Falls. The waters of Hen Wallow Creek slide ninety-five feet over eighteen levels of beautiful gray sandstone rocks to fall into a pool before swirling and continuing downstream. Ruffed grouse, or wood hens, used to roll, or wallow,
in the dirt or dust not far from the falls. I guess it was funny to watch—so someone named the creek and falls Hen Wallow. Many of the creeks, mountains, ridges, and trails have funny names in this area, like Camel Hump Mountain, Rowdy Ridge, Sinking Creek, and Rich Butt Mountain.”
Carter listened to the melody of her voice. She was always researching this place she loved so much. He remembered now how she’d always loved the stories and legends of the mountains.
“Look! What’s that stuff like corn growing at the base of that tree?” Taylor ran over and pointed to it. “Is this a flower, Dad?”
“It’s called squawroot. It’s a plant.”
Taylor squatted down to look at it. “So how come it’s not green if it’s a plant?”
“I think it’s a parasite or something, lives off the nutrients of other plants, like this oak tree here. It doesn’t use chlorophyll or need sunlight, so it has no green color.”
“Your dad’s right.” Rhea squatted down beside Taylor. “Its odd-sounding name, squawroot, comes from the fact that its starchy root used to be a food used by the Indian women.”
Taylor studied the plant intently. “How come this one’s browner?”
“Squawroot turns brown as it matures and starts to look more like a pinecone than an ear of corn,” she explained.
“Yuck. I don’t think I’d want to eat this.” Taylor made a face as he stood up. “It looks like it would taste gross.”
Rhea laughed and stood up, too. “I don’t think I’d want to eat it either.” She started to wrap her arm around Taylor’s shoulder but then drew back.
Carter saw a slice of discomfort cross her face.
He sighed. She was thinking of Judith again.
Taylor bounced on up the trail, and he and Rhea fell in line behind him. The day was warm, but the deep shade of the woods trail kept them from getting too hot as the trail started to climb.
After approximately two miles, they turned right on a side spur to the falls. As Carter remembered, a steep path worked its way down to the bottom of the waterfall. At the base of the falls, they gladly settled on boulders to rest and to look up at the long spill of water streaking down over the rocks in several shining rivulets.
