by Denise Daisy
He turned for the lake, hating to think she might be on it during this incredible storm. Nevertheless, deep in the recesses of his soul he knew that was exactly where she was. He drove through town at full speed, before connecting to the secondary roads surrounding the lake.
Storm clouds continued to boil over into the sky, blocking out any light from the waning sun or rising moon. Reaching into the floorboard of his truck, he retrieved a powerful flood light and then lowered his window. The rain blew in, soaking him instantly. Holding the light, he scanned the lake. Nothing! He reduced his speed and continued his search, the beam of light acting as a lighthouse tower on an angry sea, reflected off an object bouncing in the waters not far from shore. Leaning out his window, he aimed the light. It fell across the waters and landed on an abandoned, overturned canoe.
His heart sank. An overturned, drifting canoe was not good news. He practically jumped from his truck before placing it in park and ran down the bank to the lake, his feet slipping in the wet mud. Charging into the rushing waters, he made his way towards the bobbing canoe, all the while keeping his light aimed straight ahead.
Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of a hand, slowly sliding off the side of the boat, and disappearing into the dark lake. He hurled his light to shore and dove into the angry waters. Blindly, he searched for the sinking hand but saw nothing. He dove further down and could feel hair moving about his fingers. He wrapped his hand around the swirling tresses and yanked, pulling Bronwyn from her watery grave. With his other arm, he swiftly scooped up her listless body and carried her to shore. He tilted her head back, blowing a few short puffs of air into her mouth. Her body jerked, as a geyser of water spewed from her lips. Travis quickly turned her to her side as she continued to expel the lake water.
Travis straddled her as he knelt in the mud. He was soaked, rain poured from his hair and off his jaw line. Relief flooded his dark eyes as she raised her head and focused in on him.
“We have to get out of here!” he yelled above the howling wind and rain.
She nodded.
With every second, the storm seemed to increase its intensity. Lightning flashed through the sky almost continuously now.
“Can you make it to the truck?”
She looked over at the abandoned truck on the side of the road with the engine still running and the headlights floodlighting the falling rain. She took in a big breath of air and gave him an affirmative nod.
He helped her to her feet, however, her legs gave out almost instantly. With no time to waste, he scooped her up into his arms and ran up the slippery bank towards the truck. Kicking open the half-closed door, he fairly threw her into the cab. Stirring up mud and debris, the back tires squealed as he pulled back onto the road. He would head for the cabin. They needed to hide, fast.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Summoning all the strength she could, Bronwyn slid her body over, giving Travis enough room to drive. Unwillingly, she leaned against his strong frame. In any other circumstance, she would never sit so close to a stranger, let alone a married man. Still, she had no strength to move. Her body was exhausted and numb from the water that had long soaked through her clothes.
Lightning struck close by, splitting a tree. Travis jerked the steering wheel, dodging the falling trunk. Bronwyn would have screamed if she had the air in her lungs to do so. She’d never witnessed a storm of this magnitude, let alone been caught in one. It was intense, yet for some strange reason, she felt no fear. Maybe she was too tired to panic, or maybe, it was being in the company of this mysterious mountain man, who plucked her body from the swirling waters of death and carried her to safety.
He turned onto a narrow gravel road that disappeared behind a line of thick trees. The storm denied any visibility, and the headlights barely offered any guidance. Travis drove off feel, off knowledge of the terrain, until reaching his destination.
He pulled into the driveway of a small, rustic cabin. As the truck rolled to a stop, a warning siren blared, competing with exploding thunder. They ran for the cabin dodging flying debris.
Travis pushed open the door, the wind almost ripping it from its hinges. Wasting no time, he bolted across the room, slung aside a heavy rug, and opened a trap door lying flat into the floor. The opening gave way to a descending wooden staircase. Knowing her inability to maneuver the narrow stairs, he scooped Bronwyn into his arms, and descended quickly. Reaching the bottom, he gently deposited her on a soft, leather sofa. He climbed back up the stairs and secured the door before turning on a small lamp, revealing a warm, cozy room. With the glow of the light, she found she was able to focus and see clearly.
The well-furnished basement room seemed stocked for such an occasion. Besides the leather sofa she was soaking with her drenched clothes, there was an overstuffed armchair and a couple of end tables. Thick, warm rugs covered a wooden floor. A fireplace took over one wall and a small kitchenette the other. A restroom complete with a shower lay at the far end of the basement. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm, as well as trying to stop her excessive trembling.
Travis noticed her shiver. “I can build a fire.”
“It‘s okay.” Her teeth chattered out the words. “I’m not sure if I’m cold, or just traumatized.”
Opening a large cedar chest, Travis removed several pieces of clothing, along with several soft, warm blankets. He handed Bronwyn a t-shirt and a blanket and then pointed to the restroom. “You should get out of your wet clothes.”
She took the offered items and gratefully disappeared into the restroom. Closing the door behind her, she flipped on the light and gasped at her reflection in the mirror. Blood poured from a gash above her right eye; reminding her of the bouncing canoe ramming into her head. Seeing the wound caused her to feel an intense burning pain, making her feel weak and queasy. She continued to stare at her frightening reflection. Her hair hung in wet tatters, and any makeup she had been wearing was gone. Mascara pooled and lingered around her eyes, creating a smoky, sensuous look she usually wore only for a night out on the town. Combined with her pale face, the blood made her appear somewhat gothic and frightening.
She continued to tremble as she slowly peeled the wet, muddy clothes from her body. Grabbing a washcloth, she cleaned the mud from her skin then dried off with a towel she retrieved from a brass towel rack. Once dry, she pulled the t-shirt over her head, careful not to get blood on the white fabric. The borrowed shirt was soft, with a comforting, musky smell. Placing her wet clothes over the shower railing to dry, she wrapped the warm blanket around her and left the restroom.
Travis had also changed out of his wet clothes and removed the water from the sofa, giving Bronwyn a dry place to rest. With a fluffy pillow and more blankets, he transformed the sofa into a nice, warm bed. A small fire burned in the fireplace. Travis sat on the large raised hearth with a small black leather case beside him.
The cabin creaked and moaned, and even though they were several feet below the ground, she could still hear the storm raging outside.
Travis motioned for her to come join him at the fireplace. She approached the large stone hearth and sat down. He opened up the small leather case, removing its contents of gauze, various ointments, and medical tape. Picking up a warm cloth, he dabbed at the blood on her face, gently cleaning around her wound. He leaned in to inspect her injury, putting his face very close to hers. She was at a loss on where to focus her eyes. She desired to look at him, but feared an immediate attraction if she did. She had to admit that Bethany’s observation of the man was quite accurate. He was extremely handsome, his body fit, hard, and muscular. He was the epitome of health and his silent demeanor added to his mysteriousness.
“You’re trembling,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Just a bit unnerved,” she heard herself admit. “I thought I was dying.”
“You were.”
His words sunk deep into her soul. She realized the severity of the situation; she had nearly d
rowned. She remembered the blinding light seconds before she sank beneath the cold, black darkness, and the sudden sensation of rain pounding on her face once again. This stranger, whom she had known less than twenty-four hours, had risked the dangers of the storm to save her.
“Why?” Her thought became audible.
“Why, what?” He asked, as he opened a bottle of ointment.
“Why did you come looking for me?”
He dipped a q-tip in the ointment and dabbed it on the wound. “You were born to live, not to die.” He closed the ointment jar.
She smiled and inhaled the ointment. “That smells very nice.”
He folded a piece of gauze and then tore off a couple of pieces of medical tape. “It’s lavadin. A hybrid plant developed by crossing true lavender with spike lavender.” He secured the gauze with one final piece of tape. “It’s used for sterilizing. It’s also known for its relaxing and calming effects.”
She smiled again. Leave it to this mountain man to doctor her up with some Native American plant poultice.
He replaced the contents inside the leather case. “You should lie down and rest,” he said, motioning to the bed he made atop the sofa.
She was thankful for the suggestion. Her entire body ached. She curled up on the smooth soft blankets and leaned against the comfortable pillows. As he walked past the sofa, to return the leather case to the cabinet, she spontaneously reached for his hand, stopping him.
“Thank you for saving me.”
Travis looked at her hand lying across his wrist and then into her eyes. “It was my pleasure.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mavis hobbled down the halls of the inn, knocking on the bedroom doors and yelling over the warning sirens. “That siren means we go underground! Everyone to the basement--now!”
The doors to the rooms immediately burst open, each member of the troupe hurrying out, anxiously running down the staircase. Lillian bolted for the door, wide-eyed, but Bethany remained in the room. She pulled back the curtains from the window in a feeble attempt to peer outside. She hoped to see a returning Travis and Bronwyn. The sky was very dark, and the window was fogged over and wet. The only thing visible was the outline of trees and the gardens that flashed into view each time the lightening zipped across the sky.
“Come on hon, let’s get to movin.” Mavis’ voice carried across the room. Bethany knew she was right. She should be running for the safety of the basement along with everyone else. She felt so guilty taking shelter when her best friend was unaccounted for and possibly out in this horrific storm.
Mavis walked up behind her. “She’s a smart girl. I’m sure she’s found shelter somewhere, and you’d be best to do the same.”
Hoping Mavis was right, Bethany let the curtain fall back in place and headed downstairs.
The inn’s basement proved to be the most convenient place to ride out a storm. The room was designed for such an occasion, with bunk beds lining the far wall for Travis, Mavis, the kids, plus eight guests. There were two fully equipped restrooms with showers and tubs, and a good sized kitchen stocked with plenty of comfort food and drinks. Sofas and chairs provided rest, while bookcases filled with magazines, books and various board games offered entertainment. There was also a large cabinet filled with first aid supplies, lanterns, kerosene, and matches.
Lillian was once again in tears, complaining terribly of the health and aging affects all the recent stress was taking on her body. Trent sat next to Bethany on the sofa and placed a sympathetic hand on her knee, patting it in reassurance. The wind howled overhead as the siren continued to blast. The inn creaked and moaned in protest to the abusive wind. Thunder resounded with a deafening crash.
“Are we going to be alright?” Lillian asked, her voice quivering.
“You’re in the safest place you can be,” Mavis said.
“I pray Bronwyn is someplace just as safe,” Anna said hopefully. “And your dear Travis, God protect him as well!”
Mavis smiled gratefully.
“I feel so bloody guilty,” Trent confessed. “If I had never criticized her writing, Bronwyn wouldn’t have gone off alone. I fear it’s all my fault.”
“No, it’s mine,” Bethany took the blame. “I should have gone after her.”
“Then you both would be out in this,” Anna said.
“Or, we both would be here.” Bethany’s voice faded into her sadness.
A sudden explosion of thunder interrupted their conversation, rocking the foundation of the inn. The electricity went out, casting the basement in total darkness. Even Karley reacted in a frightful scream.
“Shit!” She instantly apologized for her poor choice of words in front of the kids.
“No need for panic,” Mavis’s calm voice seemed to swallow the darkness. “We just lost the power is all. I’ll light up a lantern.”
The sound of a striking match penetrated the eeriness of the room as Mavis turned up the wick, giving light to the basement once again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Travis lit the lantern and turned up the wick. The kerosene lamp gave a bit more light to the basement than the small crackling fire could provide. The storm continued its relentless rampage outside, yet beneath ground level in the shelter of the cabin basement, and in the company and protective care of Travis, Bronwyn began to relax. He had given her a steaming cup of herbal tea and a bowl of piping hot soup. She only sipped at both, still a bit nauseous, feeling full of lake water. Settling down on the floor, Travis leaned against the overstuffed armchair, facing the sofa. He took a swallow of his tea.
“What do you write about?”
His inquiry surprised her. That was the question of the century. This same question taunted her thoughts day after day. She knew the correct answer. In fact, there were actually two answers. The first was her default answer; the one that defined her “job” as a writer, the one that paid the bills and provided her a living. The other answer continually haunted her soul. She desired to write the story, she knew lay buried deep within her. It was a story that would make a difference, inspire and influence people for the good. Yet every attempt proved a disaster. Rejection after rejection of her work chipped away at her belief in herself as a writer. She rarely answered the question with the latter response.
“I haven’t written much of anything lately,” she sighed. “Just the sappy love stories the troupe performs.”
“Writer’s block?”
“To the nth degree.”
He set his mug of tea on the floor and gave her his full attention. “What do you want to write about?”
Her heart skipped a few beats. No one had cared enough to ask that question. She’d desired to answer it for so long. Yet, this stranger, whom she had known less than twenty-four hours, this man who had just saved her from drowning, was now asking.
She pulled the soft blanket closer around her. “I want to write life-changing stories where everyday people survive and thrive in the most challenging of circumstances. I want to write of people who aren’t controlled by their fear, but know that no matter how difficult or challenging their circumstances, no matter how impossible things may seem, the more amazing their victories will be. I want to write about people who overcome despite their oppression. You know, like legendary heroes that will inspire people, no matter their race, nationality, or social class. Inspiring stories that will cross the world and beyond. I want the words I write to be like the lyrics and melody of a much loved song evoking sentiment, allowing people to realize that there are better things to live for. I have no desire to write simply for entertainment anymore. I want my stories to be life changing and live on in the imaginations and hearts of people forever.”
There, she had said it. The words had poured from her heart and through her lips, more easily than she’d thought. He hadn’t laughed, either. He didn’t whistle and say, “big order;” he didn’t even look amused.
“So what’s stopping you?”
She sipped her tea and let his que
stion settle.
“I don’t want to be hypocritical. I have a hard time writing about something I am not sure is there. I’m not certain those kind of people really exist. Not in the real world, anyway. In the real world, Sam would have betrayed Frodo and taken the ring for himself. In the real world Jack would have hopped on the last life boat and let Rose drown.”
As the words left her lips, she felt a tinge of regret for what she had said. How thoughtless could she be? He had just risked his life to save hers. He was a true hero and she had just ignored that fact.
“Anyway,” she continued, hoping he had not taken offense. “I’m not even sure I can create amazing characters with these virtuous attributes if I am not sure I possess them myself.”
“They are there. It’s what gives your heart flight. It’s those attributes that inspire you.”
A loud roll of thunder followed his last words. She shivered and pulled the blanket even closer.
“You’re trembling again.”
He added another log to the fire. She shook from the inside out and no added log or raging fire could warm the chill she felt inside. She was not sure why she trembled so. The raging storm outside offered no threat to her, now that she was safe underground. She wasn’t cold; the sofa and blankets offered a warm and comfortable cocoon of safety. Still, her body shivered. Travis certainly put her at ease. He was a kind and caring person, providing her with all the comforts she needed. Still she trembled. That in itself frightened her. She reasoned that perhaps it could be some sort of post traumatic reaction due to her near-death experience. However, deep inside, she was conscious of a growing fear, a premonition of something that must happen. She could not understand it. She could only sense it, but whatever the reason may be, she continued to shiver.
