Forbidden Mountain

by Aimee Bishop

  I thought about her and wondered what she’d be doing right now. Was she with Robert? I looked across the sofa, and for the first time, I realized that I didn’t care. I was over her. She was poison. She wasn’t good for me, and I was just starting to see that.

  “So, you live here alone?” asked Abigail.

  I noticed she was looking over at the shoe rack, where a pair Sandy’s boots were still hanging, obviously smaller than mine, clearly belonging to a woman.

  “I do now,” I answered.

  She narrowed her eyes and gave me a sideways glance, a cookie still clenched between her teeth.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I used to have a wife, but now I don’t.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Jesus, you’re pretty damn nosy.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to drop to your knees now and pray for forgiveness?”

  “Eh?”

  “You said ‘Jesus’. Blasphemer!”

  There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

  “Not all of us are like your grandparents. Some of us are relatively normal.”

  “Yeah… I suppose it is normal to live on the top of a mountain in secret and chase people down with a wolf and a shotgun.”

  We both fell silent, and there was nothing but the sound of her crunching.

  “Aaaanyway,” I continued. “If you must know, I’m married. Or rather I’m now separated because my wife decided to cheat on me with my little brother.”

  She gasped and dropped her cookies, showering her lap with crumbs.

  “What? No way!”

  “Yes way.”

  “Bitch!”

  I was starting to like this woman.

  “Well I wasn’t going to call her that, but you beat me to it. But yeah, she cheated on me.”

  Now, at the moment, it didn’t sound as bad as it used to. In a way, it was just so absurd that all I could do was laugh.

  “And are you married?” I asked. “I suppose someone will be worried about you being out in the middle of the night with a stranger.”

  She shook her head and shrugged.

  “No one’s worrying about me right now. Well, Martha’s probably looking to whoop my ass, but I mean there’s no man in my life. And married? Pffff….”

  She blew out her lips and laughed.

  “I can’t even commit to a gym membership, let alone a man for the rest of my life.”

  She lay her head on the back of the sofa. A look of sadness came into her eyes.

  “There was one guy,” she said. “His name was Joe.”

  The color drained from her cheeks at the mention of him.

  “He was a cheat too.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What?”

  “Some guy thought he could cheat on a girl like you!”

  People were crazy. They didn’t know a good thing when they had it. Just like her mom, Abigail was stunning and spunky with an upbeat attitude and a gorgeous body. That’s maybe why she hadn’t found love. Men were afraid of her, threatened by her looks and strong personality.

  “Guys are bastards,” she said. “Well, apart from you obviously.”

  She smiled and reached out a hand to pat my arm. It was sweet and gentle and completely innocent, but it made my day. I found that I was having the best time, just being here drinking coffee and talking with a beautiful girl as she rested her hand on me. I didn’t need anything else in the world.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been so nice to me.”

  Instinctively, I raised my arm, and when she nestled into my side, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  “I’m happy to help,” I said, and breathed in the sweetness of her peach-scented shampoo.

  I had the strongest urge to bend down and kiss the top of her head, but I didn’t dare. Instead, I just held her gently. After a while, I could feel her breathing begin to slow down. Before long, she fell asleep, the empty cookie packet beside her as she snored softly.

  The moment was perfect.

  Then the front door opened.

  The icy wind blew in through the house as dad stood in the doorway, a wrench in his hands and a worried look on his face.

  “We’ve got a trespasser,” he said. “Bernard’s here.”

  CHAPTER 9 – ABIGAIL

  I woke up with a jolt. There was shouting outside. I recognized the voice immediately.

  “Where is she? I heard the truck come up this way!”

  I sat up just in time to see Bernard storm inside and give me the filthiest look.

  “Harlot!” he roared.

  It took me a moment to realize what that word even meant.

  “You scarlet woman. I give you a roof over your head, and you repay me by coming up here and lying down with this… this beast of a man.”

  Bernard was so angry his cheeks were puffed out and spots of saliva foamed along the corners of his mouth.

  “And you wrecked my truck,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve had it! Longer than you’ve been on this earth, I can tell you that!”

  He reached down and grabbed my wrist. I pulled away, scuttling up to the top of the sofa to escape his angry grasp.

  “You’re coming home with me, and you’re coming right this very second.”

  I always thought he was a bit eccentric and strict, but now I was terrified of him. But there was something else too. By the way his hands trembled, I could tell he was also scared. Something about catching me up here was putting the fear of God into him.

  “Now, Abigail!”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” came a voice from behind him.

  Jeremiah strode over and stood between us.

  “If she doesn’t want to leave, you can’t make her. She’s a grown woman.”

  “She’s just like her mother,” replied Bernard.

  “And you have no idea how amazing that is.”

  The two of them stared at each other, the tension in the room rising and rising until at last, Jeremiah took a step forward and pressed his finger to Bernard’s chest.

  “Now I suggest you leave or I’ll have to tell the boys outside to take you away.”

  Bernard gulped and reeled back.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said, his voice barely escaping his throat. “She can come home whenever she feels like.”

  We watched him walk away like a dog with its tail between his legs and waited until we heard his tractor disappearing into the distance before we spoke.

  “Why is he so scared of you?” I asked.

  “Everyone is,” came the quick reply. “If they know what’s good for them.

  When I opened my eyes, I had no idea where I was. There was something heavy on my legs, pushing me down onto the sofa.

  “What the?”

  I looked down and saw a fuzzy face and large, fluffy ears.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said.

  I never was much of a dog person. If anything they terrified me. Now, the biggest dog I’d ever seen was lying on me with a smile on his face and his tongue hanging out. If I didn’t move soon, I was going to lose circulation in my legs.

  “Move, buddy.”

  He kept staring at me, panting and grinning.

  “Urgh…”

  From behind the sofa, I could hear the creak of heavy footsteps.

  “Morning,” came a groggy voice. “Hey, Harry, you made a new friend?”

  The dog jumped down as soon as he saw Jeremiah.

  “He doesn’t look like a Harry,” I said. “He should be called Thor or Odin or something.”

  Jeremiah laughed and walked over to ruffle the dog’s hair. As he came into view, I couldn’t stop my cheeks from turning red and pulled the covers up to my nose.

  Wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, I could now see his body, and what a body it was. He was muscular, with a line of red hair that trailed down the center of his pecs. Then there were the lines that moved down the sides of his hips to create a perfect ‘
V’.

  He sensed me staring and looked over.

  “You sleep okay?” he asked.

  I nodded my head, still under the covers.

  “You know you could have had the spare bedroom.”

  “I was fine here,” I said. “Netflix is in here.”

  He smiled and walked over.

  “Coffee?”

  “You read my mind.”

  He bent down and just like he did with Harry, ruffled my hair before walking into the kitchen. He left me with my whole scalp tingling, wishing he’d come back.

  We pulled up outside the house, and I knew that any minute now, I’d have to head inside and see Martha and Bernard. They were going to be raging at me!

  “Thank you for bringing me back. I guess…”

  Jeremiah tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and gazed off toward the house.

  “Something tells me you’re not thrilled to be back. I can’t blame you. I don’t feel that welcome here myself.”

  He pursed his lips and looked down at his lap. Now, under his coat with his hat pulled down low over his forehead, there was only a glimpse of what I’d seen before, but I could still imagine what was beneath his clothes. I found myself looking at his arms and remembering how big his biceps had looked this morning.

  “Maybe we could hang out again,” I suggested.

  He gave me a sorry look and squeezed my hand.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I know you won’t be allowed to.”

  I so badly wanted to stay in his truck and talk to him a little longer, but Bernard was already standing at the front door, glowering at us.

  “I need to go,” I said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Jeremiah said nothing as I climbed out and traipsed over to the house. I took one last look over my shoulder and waved but he wasn’t looking, he was already reversing out the driveway. Before long, his truck had disappeared on the horizon.

  “Come inside,” said Bernard, his voice flat and not giving anything away. “Martha wants to talk to you.”

  For some reason, I feared her more than him, and as I stepped into the house, my hands were sweating despite it being freezing cold outside. She was at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes.

  “So, you came home,” she said, without looking up. “Take a seat. Bernard told me that you were drinking coffee last night… and eating cookies. So I suppose you won’t be needing any breakfast.”

  Caffeine and sugar, I thought. I forgot those were a sin in their eyes.

  At last, she dropped her knife in the sink and spun around.

  “What did I tell you when you got here?”

  “To…”

  “To what? Tell me!”

  “To not go up the mountain,” I said and lowered my gaze.

  She was staring right through me, her eyes angry and on fire.

  “That’s right, and what did you do?”

  I said nothing.

  “What did you do!”

  “I went up the mountain.”

  She was making me feel like a child. I couldn’t believe that she could be so angry over so little. I was an adult!

  “And not only that,” she continued, “But you stole Bernard’s truck, and you crashed it! I don’t know what Caitlyn was teaching you back home, but she’s raised a monster, a devil!”

  “Hey! I wouldn’t go that far. I’m sorry about the truck. I really am. But I’m not a monster, and I’m not a devil. Anyway, if you weren’t so mean to me I wouldn’t have had to run away.”

  “Silence!”

  She smacked a nearby pan on the table. It echoed throughout the room like a gunshot.

  “You have to learn to behave. Your parents sent you here to straighten you out, and that’s what we’re going to do. Starting right now, I’m going to make sure you learn how to act properly. We’re going to church.”

  “Church?”

  I hadn’t been since I was about ten years old and even then it was for a school Christmas service.

  “Yes, church young lady. You say the word like you haven’t heard it before.”

  Then a look of realization came over her.

  “Tell me, when was the last time you even went to church?”

  Terrified of what she would say if I told her the truth, I remained silent for a moment and looked around the room.

  “Er… A while.”

  “How long’s a while?”

  “About… About eleven years,” I admitted.

  I could see the color drain from her face as she fell against the sink.

  “El-elev…”

  She couldn’t even get the words out.

  “I don’t get why it’s a big deal,” I confessed. “I mean mom and dad don’t even believe in God. Well, my dad kinda does, but not really.”

  Her face grew pale and her mouth dropped open with nothing but air escaping her body.

  “Ge-get your coat,” she eventually managed to force out. “Now!”

  The church was small and kind of cute. From the outside, it looked like a wood cabin with a small spire. Inside, rows of pews led up to the pulpit which a young girl with flaming red hair was polishing. She smiled as we entered and nodded her head toward the back of the building.

  “They’re all in the kitchen baking,” she said.

  Martha dragged me into a back room. It smelled like yeast and raw meat. As soon as we entered, everyone fell silent. Suddenly, I felt dozens of eyes on me.

  “You brought her,” said a voice from the back of the room. “Is it true she’s Caitlyn’s daughter?”

  I craned my neck to see who was talking and saw a portly woman in an oversized pink, floral dress with shoulder pads. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her face was pale and makeup free but flawless. It was then that I noticed everyone was dressed in a similar fashion. I felt like I’d stumbled into a cult.

  “This is Abigail,” said Martha. “And she has been sent to us to learn the ways of a Godly life.”

  They all nodded in agreement. The lady in pink waved me over.

  “You can make a start on the pie crust over here,” she said and handed me a bowl.

  I stared at it, not knowing what to do next.

  “Well get a move on,” she said.

  “I… I don’t’ know what I’m doing. I’ve never baked anything in my life.”

  A gasp rippled throughout the room.

  “You don’t bake?”

  I shook my head.

  “Um…No.”

  Silence came over the group. This was even more excruciating than I imagined.

  “Just follow what I do,” said a girl about my age.

  She looked friendlier than the others and a lot younger too. With a warm smile, she guided me through the steps of how to make the perfect pie crust and I followed, the heat of everyone’s gazes still burning through me.

  After a little while, the excitement of my entrance began to dissipate and soon everyone was engaged in conversation, apparently having forgotten all about me. Meanwhile, I found that my new baking mentor was friendly and sweet and didn’t seem to mind that I was an outsider. If anything, she seemed to find it fascinating.

  “I’m Esmerelda,” she said. “But everyone calls me Esme.”

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thanks.” She blushed as she kneaded the dough. “How long have you been in Bambridge?”

  “Like, a couple of days,” I said.

  “Ooh. Quite a shock for ya.”

  “Just a bit.”

  Across the room, Martha was gathering the older members of the group and leading them out into the main area of the church.

  “Why are we doing this?” I asked. “What has pie gotta do with Jesus?”

  Esme laughed and slapped a slab of dough.

  “Church bake sale this afternoon,” she said. “We do one at the end of every month.”

  She pointed a flour-covered hand over to the door where Martha had just exited.

  “Of course we do all the ha
rd work, and all the old grumps just stand around telling us what to do.”

  I was sensing some tension between the age groups. As I looked around the room, I realized that the only people left were my age or younger.

  “So what made you come here?” asked Esme.

  “My parents,” I said with a pout. “They want to teach me a lesson.”

  “A lesson?”

  She scrunched up her face in confusion.

  “I crashed a car while drunk,” I said. “Not cool. The stupidest mistake of my life.”

  Gradually, everyone began to get quiet as they eavesdropped.

  “You were drunk!” gasped Esme. “My Lord.”

  A few of the girls in front of us turned around, their piles of dough now forgotten as they dusted flour off their hands.

  “Where did you live before you came here?” one of them asked.

  She had porcelain skin and pristine blue eyes.

  “Chicago,” I said.

  “Woah,” she replied. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  Now everyone was turned in my direction, eager to hear more.

  “So, what made your grandmother Martha bring you here?” asked Esme. “You forget to do your chores?”

  For a moment, I debated whether I should even tell them, but something made me want to see their reaction.

  “Now I… um… stole my grandfather Bernard’s truck and crashed it up on the mountain. Luckily I was saved, though the truck didn’t fair so well. And I spent the night with the kindest man.”

  “A man?”

  “Yeah, Jeremiah. You know him?”

  Silence. They all blinked at me, slack-jawed. Esme had her hands clapped to her cheeks. As she pulled them away, floured handprints remained on her skin.

  “You spent a night with Jeremiah!”

  “Are you serious?”

  I nodded.

  “You can’t be. No one’s ever trespassed on the mountain and survived.”

  “What?” I laughed. “Nonsense. Jeremiah’s the perfect gentleman. He’s a nice guy. Makes a mean latte.”