by Vella Munn
“I’m afraid not. There used to be a regular city here. At least there was a post office, hotel, general store, even a blacksmith shop. I’m afraid there’s nothing but a few decaying houses now.”
Michon almost lost her balance as the canoe gently ran into the shore and then settled back into the water. “Pity. Oh, well, any port in a storm. I suppose you want me to get out.”
“Can you?”
“Of course,” she returned sharply, but as she started to unbend her legs she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to live up to her words. “Oh! I’m stiff.”
“I thought as much.” Somehow Chas had reached the shore without getting his shoes wet and was holding onto the canoe, looking closely at her. “Do you think you can stand?”
Only his question and what she perceived as a challenge in his eyes gave Michon the push necessary to get herself out of the canoe. The ground felt strange under her, much as she’d felt after wearing roller skates for hours. She took a brave step away from the river and almost managed another before her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed unceremoniously on the rocks.
Chas carefully pulled the canoe part way onto the shore and then walked slowly over to where she was rubbing her aching knees. “Are you all right?” he asked as he knelt beside her.
His unexpected concern, when she was sure she deserved some comment about her not being in shape for the journey, was all it took to push Michon over the edge. She dropped her head and buried her face in the protection of her hands. Tears she didn’t understand but didn’t try to stop wracked her slender form. She was vaguely aware of Chas rubbing her back between the shoulder blades, but in her present state there wasn’t enough of her left over emotionally to respond.
“What are you crying for?” Chas asked, his hands still providing their healing therapy. “Is it what happened earlier, about April?”
Michon shook her head. Her voice broke several times as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I had no right saying what I did. I don’t know what existed between you and April.” She looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “That’s the trouble. I don’t know what happened and what it did to you.”
“You’re right. You don’t. Look, you’re tired, wrung out. Actually”—he paused dramatically and then winked—“you’re not quite up to being hired as a sea captain yet, but you’ve got promise. At least you’re no quitter.”
Michon felt her tears stop as the other canoes came to shore and the students started walking over to where she was sitting. With a shaky sigh Michon wiped her eyes and busied herself with removing her life jacket. The fabric under the jacket was soaked, and despite her efforts to dislodge her cotton blouse, it continued to cling tightly to her breasts and rib cage. Her bra did little to hide the fact that her nipples were responding to the cold fabric.
“Do you think you’re going to survive?” she heard Harry ask and tipped her head upward, praying that her eyes weren’t so red that there was no hiding the fact that she’d been crying.
“Oh, yes,” she smiled, feeling a hundred times better than she had a few minutes before. She had promise. She wasn’t a quitter. “I thought I was going to have to crawl there for a minute, but I’m on the way to recovery. Now I’m just stiff.”
Slowly, drawing out the moment, Michon pulled her eyes away from Harry and focused on Chas. He was still squatting beside her, but had pulled back slightly to allow her to remove her life jacket. She realized that he was looking at her blouse and not her face. Did he like what he saw?
Michon thought about once again trying to dislodge her sodden blouse, but the damage, if there was any, had already been done. Chas had seen enough of her form that she might as well be naked. “I—I’m sorry about what happened a minute ago,” she whispered as Harry started walking away. “I hardly ever cry. I don’t like to see women cry. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was until I tried to stand.”
Chas pushed himself to his feet and stretched out a hand to help her. “Don’t apologize. You’re entitled.”
“I didn’t want to cry.” She wanted to talk about her emotions, or rather her lack of understanding about them, but Chas was too close. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his hand still wrapped around hers. She couldn’t remember putting her hand in his. It was as if it had a will of its own, a need separate from all logic. Worthless had trusted her instinctively from the moment she first picked him up. Was this how her body was responding to Chas?
Slowly, almost shyly, Chas placed his hands on her shoulders and held her back from him as if studying a painting he was considering buying. She trembled, met his eyes, and lost herself in their depths. “You’re a beautiful woman, Michon,” he whispered.
Chapter Eight
Beautiful?
Michon stared down at her sodden, dirty tennis shoes. Her jeans were wet almost up to her knees, and the heavy fabric clung to her calves and ankles. She was certain that the light touch of lipstick she’d applied that morning was long gone. Her cheeks and nose had to be red from the wind. Her hair, whipped by that same wind, had been pushed in one direction, leaving a ragged part on the left. Spray from the river currents had soaked the ends and they clung limply to her neck. Her blouse looked as if she’d used it to bail out the bottom of the canoe.
And yet he’d called her beautiful. Why?
There wasn’t enough time to think about Chas’s words and the abrupt way he’d left her after saying them. The canoes had to be unloaded and camp set up for the evening. At first the girls groaned and complained, uncomfortable, like Michon, after having spent the bulk of the day in canoes. But when the boys announced that they were starved and commanded, “Shake a leg, women,” the girls threw off any remnants of physical discomfort and warned the boys that the unpaid cooks were going to go on strike if they weren’t shown a little respect. Michon had to laugh. Their spirits revived her own. In fact being with the teenagers was giving her a fresh zest for life, one she knew she would deeply miss when the journey was over.
“Men!” a small but wiry seventeen-year-old named Shanna said to Michon. “We’re good enough to keep up our end of the paddling all day, but look how fast those dumb boys fall back into old habits. Women’s lib, my eye! The only thing they care about is their bellies. What manual says we have to cook while they sit on their duffs?”
“How far do you think you’ll get if you tell them that?” Michon asked, knowing the answer already. “Do you think they’d have dinner before you starved?”
“I’d probably starve,” Shanna shrugged philosophically. “That’s okay,” she went on, lowering her voice. “I knew what I was doing when I got in Skip’s canoe. Sometimes a girl has to take the initiative. After dinner I think I’m going to suggest that we take a walk. Just so we know what the country looks like around here, right? Did you see the moon and stars last night? Fantastic! If that doesn’t give him ideas, then he’s a lost cause.”
“You like him, do you?” Michon was pretty sure that Skip was the skinny boy with a smattering of freckles on his cheeks.
Shanna grinned. “I like him. Some of these guys think they’re God’s gift to women, but Skip’s not like that. He’s easy to talk to. I’ll tell you what. If I promise to keep Skip away from that hill ahead of us, maybe you can get Chas to take you there.”
“Oh no,” Michon protested. “I’m sure Chas has much more important things to do than go for a walk. He—we’re just friends.”
Shanna studied Michon a moment before speaking. “Are you kidding? I’ve been watching the two of you. It’s a hobby of mine, watching people. You’re not wearing a ring, and Harry said Chas wasn’t married. The two of you fit together.”
“I don’t think so. Just because two people aren’t married and are about the same age doesn’t mean they’re attracted to each other,” Michon protested as she struggled with wet laces, trying to get out of her uncomfortable shoes. “Chas isn’t interested in any involvements.” She stopped, feeling that she’d already said too much.
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“If he’s alive, he’s interested in an involvement, as you call it. People need people. I took a semester of psychology last year. That’s one of the things I learned. And, like I said, I’m a people watcher. I’m starved! Forget the old diet. I’m not going to stop eating until I fall over and pass out. Skip is going to have to like me fat.” With that announcement Shanna opened one of the ice chests and started laying out the ingredients to go with hamburgers.
Michon offered to help, but Shanna and two other girls who were helping her informed Michon that they were getting class credit for their camping skills, not she. But, if she really wanted to help, she could start pumping up air mattresses to sleep on.
Although it wasn’t quite 5:00 P.M. when the hamburgers were done, no one seemed to mind the early dinner. Michon sat next to Harry, openly astonished at the amount of food being devoured. “Are you sure we brought enough? Fresh air must put appetites in high gear,” she said. “We might have to take up hunting or fishing if this bunch isn’t going to starve.”
“They sure can eat, can’t they? Michon, you wouldn’t have any liniment on you would you?”
Michon speared a tomato slice. “As a matter of fact, that’s one of the items Chas suggested. It’s in my bag. Don’t tell me I’m not the only one to be feeling the effects of our day.”
Harry smiled, but Michon thought she detected a certain tightness around the corners of his mouth. “I confess. Only, in my case, I’m afraid it’s a little more than sore muscles.”
“Are you all right?” Michon asked, concerned. She now noticed that Harry was eating slowly with his left hand while holding his shoulders at an awkward angle. He was shivering slightly, but still wearing his wet shirt.
“Just old age, my dear.” Harry smiled his wan smile again. “It’s bursitis. I had a shot of some anesthetic for it before we took off, but I’m afraid it isn’t doing the job. Be glad you’re young.”
“I’m sorry. You’re in pain, aren’t you? Hold on. I’ll show you what I brought.” Michon started to get up, but Harry stopped her.
“Indulge me, will you?” he whispered. “I’d just as soon the others didn’t see you playing nurse for me. Chas asked more than once if I was in shape for this. I assured him that I was. I just hope I’m right. I don’t want him to have any more on his mind than necessary. You understand, don’t you?”
Michon wasn’t sure she did, but she agreed to keep quiet, at least for the time being. As they finished their meal Harry explained that he’d ignored the growing pain and limitation of movement in his right shoulder until his wife dragged him to the doctor. As Harry explained it, his suspicions were confirmed. Old age was catching up with him. Since then he’d begun a program of therapy that included specific exercises, taking anti-inflammatory agents and shots of corticosteroid. “The doctor tells me it’s going to take time for it to get better. I’m trying to be patient, but there are times—”
“Does it always hurt?”
“Only when I laugh. Sorry, that was a poor joke, wasn’t it? It isn’t a picnic, but it isn’t like I have heart trouble or anything. My vital organs are in fine shape. At least I’m not completely falling apart. My wife said I was a fool for coming on this trip, with my shoulder the way it is, but I hope you understand.”
“I’m not sure I do. But I’d like to.” Until this moment Michon had considered Harry a nice older man, but not anyone she knew very well. She had the feeling that that was about to change.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Harry smiled. “Part of it’s my ego or pride or whatever you want to call it. I’ve been preaching at those kids all year, building them up for this trip. I had to talk myself blue in the face to get the school system to go along with this kind of outdoor education. They don’t jump on new ideas. And, let me tell you, getting the grant to pay for it took more hours and work and pounding on doors than I care to think about. I got written up in the paper. I had the other teachers telling me I was breaking new trails. That didn’t hurt my ego any. My wife, well, she thinks I’m a sweet old guy, but not one to try anything more adventurous than taking the dog for a walk.” Harry sighed. “I wanted to prove something to her. And to me. I used to do a lot of this survival business, but that was years ago. I guess I had to prove to myself that I wasn’t ready for a rocking chair yet. Maybe when you’re older, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
Michon put down her plate, took Harry’s hands in hers and squeezed them gently. She felt closer to Harry than she dreamed possible. “I know exactly what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her throat tight. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“Because Chas is a one-of-a-kind guy, and you’re interested.”
Michon blushed but shook off Harry’s words. “Let’s not talk about that, okay? I’m here because I don’t want to be a grandmother some day with nothing more to tell my grandchildren than how I went to Seattle on a buying trip for a store so expensive I couldn’t afford to shop there myself. My grandchildren couldn’t care less about that. I want to look back on this experience someday and say, ‘Hey, I did it!’”
Harry gave her a broad grin and a wink. “You and I think a lot alike, Michon. I had a good feeling about you from the start. Look, about that liniment, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll borrow it later. I was going to pack some, but my wife was watching. Damn pride!”
“Harry?” Michon ventured. “I think we should tell Chas. He might want you in his canoe where he can help you. I’m sure he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want you paddling.”
Harry got to his feet. “No way, young lady. I’ve toughed out this shoulder of mine for months now. I’ll survive. Holding on to a paddle might not be the best thing in the world for it, but I’m not going to cry uncle. Don’t put me in a wheelchair.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I know you’re not an invalid.” Michon protested as she got to her feet. “I’m just saying I think Chas should know.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” Harry said sharply. Then he softened his tone. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me. Thanks to this shoulder, I’m not in a very good mood. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Look, let me sleep on it. If it isn’t any better in the morning I’ll tell our handsome young leader. Is that a deal?”
Michon nodded, reluctantly, she admitted, and made herself a promise to keep an eye on Harry to make sure he wasn’t going to try to keep anything from her. He was a stubborn man all right, but it took a man with the bit between his teeth to turn an idea into an expedition of this magnitude. If Harry felt he could handle the trip despite his bursitis, he was probably right. She had to respect his pride. She couldn’t imagine Chas thinking less of Harry if he knew about the shoulder, but it was for Harry to decide, not for her.
Chas had buried himself in the middle of a trio of boys during dinner, but when dinner was over, he separated himself from them and went down by the river, where Michon could observe him checking the outsides of the canoes.
She longed to join him, but held back. In some way she only partly understood, there was something about Chas Carson that set him apart from the rest of the group. Part of it, she knew, was his leadership role. But there was more to the feeling than that. The rest of them, she concluded, were people from the city who were on the John Day for an adventure. Chas belonged here. This was his home.
Michon moved to where she could watch Chas, not caring whether anyone was observing her. She found that if she narrowed her eyes enough to make the world take on a hazy appearance Chas blended into the landscape. His feet were locked firmly onto the ground; his flesh had been branded by the elements. His eyes saw what others didn’t. His ears caught private wilderness sounds. This was where he belonged, where he wanted to be.
Why? Why had he chosen this life and not the comforts most people took for granted? Was it born in him, or did Bear, the man who became his father, shape him? Had he ever wanted another kind of life?
Michon stepped closer, admiring
the quick but sure way Chas was running his strong, tanned fingers over the canoes’ hulls, looking, she guessed, for imperfections. Was he born two hundred years too late? Did he belong with fur trappers, explorers? He looked as though he could hold his own with Lewis and Clark. Hardships? He would accept them without complaint. How would he have spent his nights two hundred years ago? Would he have taken an Indian maiden as his wife? Would it take that kind of woman to understand him? Would he curl up with her under a blanket on a cold night and make her forget everything except flesh against flesh, two hearts pounding together?
Michon gasped, shaken by the intensity of her emotions. Thank heavens no one could read the naked thoughts she knew showed in her eyes. There was no denying the fact that she was looking at Chas with an Indian maiden’s eyes. And, like an Indian maiden, she was pleased with what she saw. He was a man built for the wilderness. He had lean hips, powerful leg muscles, broad shoulders, competent hands, and a shy openness to his eyes that made him very, very human.
Oh, Chas! You’re doing things to me!
She didn’t try to turn away when Chas finished his task and came to his feet in a single fluid motion. As he turned toward her she realized it was because he had to have sensed the intensity of her study of him. For the space of several breaths he simply returned her gaze, his eyes never leaving hers, not revealing his thoughts. Then she saw his chest expand deeply and heard the soft sigh of his expelled breath.
“Do you have anything to do?” he asked as he came closer.
“No. Not really. Do you need some help?” Michon’s wet blouse had been exchanged for a dry one, her hair combed, but she still felt exposed, vulnerable.
“No, but I’d like to show you something.” Without waiting for a reply, Chas took her elbow and started guiding her away from the river and up a rocky, weed-strewn slope leading to the harsh, weathered remains of an old house. Michon had seen the house earlier, had thought idly about having a closer look, but now that Chas was so close, the house’s attraction slipped into the background.
