Falling for Rain
Page 6
The eastern end of the lake ended in a high cliff along the top of which ran the eastern boundary of the farm. It was a steep climb from the shoreline to the top of the ridge, but generations of Alexanders had smoothed the ascent by clearing a path and building rough stone steps in the steepest spots.
Emily pushed on ahead, with Rain following behind. He came here often – it was a good place to think. He also liked to keep the path free of debris. It was an old path, and it seemed respectful to those who had built it to keep it maintained. He stopped and pulled a branch from the path, making a mental note to come back with a saw and clear back the encroaching brush. It would be a good job for a sunny winter day.
The trail emerged onto a large flat circular rock. It was surrounded with trees except for the lakeside, which overhung the water like a theatre balcony. Someone, a long time ago, had placed a row of rocks along the edge of the cliff as a precaution against the sixty-foot drop to the water below. Emily was already seated on one of these rocks, her feet inches from the cliff edge, when Rain emerged from the woods. Her back was to him, and the wind, stronger here, lifted her hair. He stood still, not wanting to disturb her. Perhaps the magic of this view would touch her, as his story clearly had, and make her change her mind about this beautiful piece of land. And about him.
Emily heard his footsteps on the rock behind her. “Do you still dive from here?” She remembered lying face down looking over the edge of the cliff, the sensuous feeling of the sun-warmed rock beneath her. Rain, his hands and arms outstretched like wings, had seemed to fly from the cliff. She could still see the sweeping arc of his body silhouetted against the clear, summer sky as he drew his hands together over his head and started the descent into the deep water far below. He had entered the water cleanly, coming up moments later, shaking the water from his eyes, laughing, smiling up to her where she too laughed and smiled back. Over and over, he would climb back up the path, drops of water still glistening on his tanned skin, and jump again.
He was surprised by the question, surprised that she would bring up this shared experience from when they were young and in love. He sat down, careful to leave a rock between them. “No.” He had stopped diving after Emily left. He had stopped a lot of things after she left. Just living took all the strength he had. Out loud he added, “No one to show off to, I guess.”
To his surprise, she looked at him and laughed. Her expression flashed a mischievous sparkle. It seemed to Rain that the sun had just chased the clouds from her eyes. “I’ll hold your coat,” she said with mock seriousness.
Rain laughed with her.
“Can you imagine what Mom and Dad would have done if they’d known?” she asked.
Rain was even more surprised to hear her mention her parents so lightly. “Your mother,” he answered firmly, “would have been furious, but how much do you want to bet that your Dad did the same thing when he was a kid?”
“No, really?!” she asked incredulously. “How do you know?”
“Oh, he let it slip once.”
“That’s so hard to picture,” she said quietly as she turned her gaze back out over the lake and sky. Rain thought he could see her eyes becoming guarded again. Moments of candidness were few with Emily, and he wished they didn’t leave him hungry for more. It would be better if she stayed angry with him all the time; it would save him the useless hoping.
They sat for several minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts, the silence between them softened by the tranquillity of the scene before them. To their right lay the neat rectangular fields of Maple Tree Farm with their straight borders of sugar maples, while on their left was the dense forest of the crown land.
Except for the cedars and pines, the trees were bare. But still, they had an ethereal beauty of their own. High overhead, its distinctive outline silhouetted against the heavy grey of the sky, a hawk glided on a breeze. A mist began to roll off the lake below them. Ancient and unspoiled, it had remained unchanged for hundreds if not thousands of years. It was this ability of the Canadian landscape to defy taming that made it so magical, Emily decided. She would not have been surprised to see a canoe paddled by one of the island’s ancient inhabitants emerge from the fog. The eerie, mournful cry of a loon floated on the breeze, and Emily involuntarily shivered.
While Rain did not know the reason for the sudden change of mood, Emily did. Being up here, hearing Rain’s stories, had made up her mind. Rain would be shocked, but by the time he learned what she had done, she would be a long way away.
Chapter 4
On the way into the village to put her new plan into action, Emily stopped at the Blue Church. So named because of its startling robin’s-egg blue colour, the little church was one of the village’s oldest buildings, its size determined by the meagre resources of the village’s original inhabitants. To the less devout inhabitants, the spending of time, money, and valuable materials on a church must have seemed a folly when there were homes and barns to be built before the vicious winter cold set in. Emily didn’t know the history of its unusual colour, though it occurred to her that Rain might. She would ask him later.
She pulled into the gravel drive and parked her car behind the building. Situated on a hill, the church overlooked the surrounding fields. Sloping down toward a small creek, enclosed by a faded white picket fence, was the cemetery. It was the cemetery that interested Emily. She pushed open the gate and walked between the stones until she came to the corner where the Alexanders were buried.
She’d come here as a child with her parents to leave flowers at the gravestones of her grandfather and grandmother. She’d liked it here, so peaceful and cool under the soft branches of the weeping willows. It lost all its peace for her, however, when her mother died and took her place among her husband’s family. Emily hadn’t been back since the day of the funeral.
She wasn’t ready to look at her mother’s grave, going instead to the oldest ones in the plot. The letters were almost worn away, the white stone made almost smooth by rain, wind, and snow. Emily traced the faint letters with a finger. Michael Alexander 1795-1865 and his wife Emily Alexander 1799-1870. R. I. P. Rain hadn’t told her Alexander’s wife was named Emily. Was she named after this woman?
She moved on, reading each stone carefully, noting names and dates of birth and death. She felt especially touched by the small stones that belonged to babies and children, wondering at the long-ago grief of the parents who had stood at these tiny gravesides.
At last she came to her parents' grave. It was the largest stone in the Alexander plot. Her mother’s name was first, followed by the dates of her birth and death. There were a few verses of poetry underneath and Emily wondered if her father had chosen these haunting and beautiful lines.
I wept when I remembered, how often you and I
Had tired the sun with our talking and chased it down the sky.
Under the poem were her father’s name and dates with the simple inscription We miss you. Emily knew Rain had done this for her father, as he had done everything else, and she felt ashamed.
* * *
Martin Wright barely recognized Emily as the same woman who had been in his office only twenty-four hours earlier. Her hair was dishevelled, her makeup gone. The severe business suit had been replaced with a long flowing Indian cotton skirt and a green fair isle sweater. Clearly she had resurrected the wardrobe of her youth. Martin couldn't imagine what had happened to bring about such a dramatic change, but he approved of it. She looked more like a human being – and an attractive one at that.
"What can I do for you today, Ms Alexander?” His tone was cautious. He hadn't forgotten their last meeting, and just because her clothes had mellowed didn't necessarily mean her personality had.
Emily placed her briefcase on his desk and opened it. From it she produced a letter she had written before leaving the house. "This contains everything you need to know," she said briskly enough, but the new uncertainty didn't escape Martin’s notice.
He took the l
etter from her and read it carefully. He could hardly believe his eyes. What he wouldn't have given to be a fly on the wall at the Alexander farm last night! He fought to keep any curiosity from showing in his voice. "Are you sure?” he asked, glancing up at her.
"Yes,” she said with more conviction in her voice.
Martin Wright excused himself to take a call, and Emily sat in one of the leather chairs. She was sure she was doing the right thing. Even more sure since she’d left Rain sitting on the cliff. There was more than one way to purge herself of the past.
Martin Wright finished his call and apologized to Emily for the interruption. “It’ll take a few days to draw up the necessary paperwork,” the lawyer said. “Are you staying in the village?" “I’m at the farm, but I want to get back to Toronto as soon as possible. I'd like you to make this a priority."
"Of course." He didn't wonder at the soon as possible part. If she could change this much in twenty-four hours.... "How about the day after tomorrow?"
She nodded. She would have dinner with Rain tomorrow, sign the papers the following morning, and be back in Toronto by mid-afternoon.
"I’ll have everything ready first thing in the morning,” the lawyer promised.
“Good. I’ll come before noon. And one other thing. I don’t want Rain to know about this yet. I want you to contact Rain after I sign, not before, is that clear?” she said, trying to put some of the old edge back in her voice.
Martin Wright, noting the use of the nickname Rain as opposed to Mr. Storm or Ray, wasn’t fooled by the stern tone. But he played along anyway. “Yes, that’s clear,” he said firmly.
Suddenly weary, Emily closed her briefcase and took it from the desk. "One more thing," she said before he opened the door. "A Jonathon Pilling-Smith may try to sue for breach of contract. He had a client lined up to buy the farm and made this client some promises. I may want you to handle it."
"Fine. Do you want to discuss it now?"
"No. I’m hoping it won’t happen. I’ll call you if it does."
He had no parting words beyond goodbye for her today, and she had none for him. He closed the door softly and returned to his desk. He picked up the letter of instructions and read it again slowly. In his business, he was used to people changing their minds. One day they wanted one thing, the next day they wanted something completely different. But never had he seen a turnaround like this one. He shook his head in wonder, comparing again the woman in his office yesterday with the one who had just left. Unbelievable, really, that these radically different people could be the same person.
Clearly, this was Ray Storm's work. What kind of a hold did Storm have over that Alexander girl? Storm did have a reputation as quite a heartthrob. Martin had heard enough gossip to safely conclude that every woman in the village over ten and under ninety had her fantasies about Ray Storm. But could that really be the explanation where Emily was concerned? After all, they grew up together, and, as far as he knew, the only time she had seen him since she’d left for school was at her father's funeral. Hard to imagine her having an overnight change of heart, especially given the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death. Well, something had changed her mind. Whatever it was, it was clearly a powerful force. He shook his head again and picked up the phone to inform his secretary of the dramatic turn of events.
* * *
Leaving her car in the parking lot behind the lawyer's office, Emily went next door to the Five Star Diner. The diner's decor had not changed since Emily was a child and had come here after church with her parents for lunch. The same dark panelling, the same paint-by-number landscapes, the same red-upholstered booths. The only customer in the diner, Emily had a choice of booths and settled on one in the window.
"Hi, you new around here?" Emily looked up from her paper-placemat menu to her waitress: a petite, pretty blonde in her mid-twenties whose name, Cathy, was stitched to the front of her uniform.
“Just visiting,” Emily said.
"We don't get many visitors this time of year. Especially in this kind of weather. They got storm warnings out on the radio. There's a late hurricane somewhere, and we're supposed to get lots of rain and stuff. You want coffee?"
"Yes, please. And a bowl of soup."
"It's a good day for soup, being damp out and all. Sure you don't want a hot turkey sandwich too?"
"No, thank you. Just the soup."
"Okay. I'll be right back with your coffee."
Emily leaned back in her booth and pushed back the café curtain that covered the lower half of the diner window. The window overlooked the village’s narrow main street. Immediately across the street was the Provincial Hotel, the village’s only hotel. Still run by the descendants of the original owners, the Provincial had been renting rooms and serving drinks for over one hundred years. A hitching rail for horses was still in place, and Canada's first Prime Minister, Sir John A. MacDonald, was said to have had ‘a few too many’ there on more than one occasion. Situated close to the street, it was a large gangly clapboard building fronted with a deep porch. Even on this damp November day, several people had chosen the porch as the place to drink their beers. Emily watched a small group of men near the porch railing sipping from bottles as they looked skyward, talking, no doubt, about the weather. They turned their attention from the sky as another man joined them at the railing.
Instantly, Emily recognized the new man as Rain and reflexively pulled the curtain back into place, leaving only a small gap through which to observe. He looked to be in a good mood, greeting the men with a smile and handshakes all around. With much pointing to the sky, the men appeared to be filling Rain in on the discussion so far.
While Rain seemed perfectly relaxed in this group of farmers, Emily found herself thinking how different he was from them. Even though she could not hear their voices, she knew that the sound of his voice, smooth and polished like fine wood, would contrast dramatically with the flat drawl of the other men. The farmers wore caps over short home-cut hair, shapeless dark green work pants, and loose green or red plaid fleece work coats. Rain, on the other hand, was dressed in well-fitted jeans, jean jacket over a maroon wool shirt, wind playing in his longish hair. He looked, Emily had to admit, incredible. If she took this man to even the most chic of parties in Toronto, he would turn heads. Next to Rain, Jonathon and all his Armani-suited acquaintances would look more like plastic mannequins than real men. She couldn’t think of a single woman who wouldn’t find him gorgeous.
Her waitress’s reappearance startled Emily out of her thoughts, and she quickly drew the curtain closed all the way. "Sorry it took so long,” the waitress said. “I made another pot – the other one was old." She set the coffee down in front of Emily, removed two creamers from her apron pocket, and placed them on the saucer.
"What were you looking at?" Cathy asked, peering over the tops of the café curtains. She scanned the street and the porch of the Provincial, her brightly lipsticked mouth suddenly forming a mischievous smile. "Bet you're looking at Rain Storm."
Emily looked up abruptly from pouring cream in her coffee, afraid this woman had recognized her.
Cathy laughed at Emily’s startled expression. “That's not really his name,” she said, assuming it was Rain’s unusual name that had startled Emily. “It’s really Ray Storm. But all the girls call him Rain Storm when they talk about him ‘cause it sounds so romantic. Don't be embarrassed. Every woman looks at Rain. He’s so hot, and he's nice, too. I mean, some guys get conceited and stuck-up because they're good-looking, but Rain doesn't even seem to notice that every girl in the village is in love with him.”
It was obvious to Emily that Cathy was to be counted among every woman in the village. In the dim light of the restaurant, she positively glowed.
"And is this Rain Storm married or have a girlfriend?" Emily asked in what she thought was an idly curious voice.
About to answer, Cathy was interrupted by a bell from the kitchen. "That's your soup. I'll be back in a minute."
Cathy returned within the promised minute, placing the steaming bowl of soup and a basket of cellophane-wrapped crackers in front of Emily. "He's not married.” She dropped her voice to a hush. "Apparently this girl broke his heart, and he's never gotten over it." At this point, Cathy slipped uninvited into the seat opposite Emily, obviously enjoying the chance to tell the story. No doubt, she and every other woman in the village wanted to be the girl who would mend his broken heart, Emily thought, keeping her eyes fixed on the bowl of soup in front of her.
Although she left out Once upon a time, Cathy told the story as if it were a fairytale. "You see, Rain was an orphan. Well, not really an orphan, but his mother wasn't married, and she gave the baby to the Alexander family to raise. They had a farm near here – Rain still lives there. I guess the mother and Mrs. Alexander had been friends in school. Anyway, the Alexanders had a baby girl, and, when she got older, she and Rain were pretty tight. Everybody assumed that they would get married when she finished school, but instead she went all weird. They say it's because her mother died in this bad accident, and she took it real hard. Anyway, she got all snooty, thought she was better than everyone else, even Rain, and moved to Toronto. She didn't even come to her father's funeral when he died.”
Emily looked up from her bowl sharply, the words I did too! on the tip of her tongue. But remembering she was supposed to be a stranger in the village, she swallowed them just in time.