by Vella Munn
Michon shook herself out of her daydream. She wasn’t a history teacher. But as she returned to her book she felt a secret sense of accomplishment. History could live. It was simply a matter of how it was handled. Maybe Harry had a point. She loved what she was doing right now, which was a heck of a lot more than she could say about working at Chantilla.
How much schooling would she need to become a teacher? She’d had some college, so it wasn’t as if she’d have to start from scratch. Of course there was the matter of money. She’d have to work in order to afford it, but she’d have the money to put on an education if she weren’t buying designer dresses and putting money on a car she thought she had to have because of the status associated with it.
It—it was possible.
Michon had no idea how long she’d been reading when she became aware of the pressure against her eyes. She finished the diary she was reading and closed the book. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m bushed. After all, I did go swimming today.”
“We don’t have to go to bed now, do we?” Shanna asked. “Skip said he’d play his guitar.”
“No, you don’t have to go to bed now,” Michon laughed. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to any of them that there was no way she could make them crawl into their sleeping bags. “Just promise me that when you hit the sack, there’s only one to a sleeping bag.”
Her candor brought a chorus of laughs. Michon crossed her fingers and hoped they’d get through the night without any couplings that were sure to be frowned on by the parents who had entrusted their youngsters to Harry, Chas, and her.
And if Shanna wound up in Skip’s sleeping bag, could she say anything? Twenty-four hours ago she’d been in the arms of a man. Tonight was different. Michon changed into practical pajamas, struggled with her sleeping bag until she found a comfortable position, and then lay on her back staring at the stars. Last night she hadn’t felt the hard ground. She hadn’t known anything except the touch of the man who had his arms around her.
Michon groaned, moved in restless agony, and focused on the distant stars. If only she could shut out what had happened today. If only she could let last night remain clear and unchanged in her heart. Every woman needed one night like that in her life.
Oh, Chas, she moaned to the silent stars. Do you have any idea what you did to me? Do you know what you’re capable of?
It wasn’t just that he’d touched her physically in a way she’d never been touched before. Somewhere, buried so deep she hadn’t known it existed, was a nerve, an essence, something. That spot was now awake. It knew—wanted—one thing in life. That thing was love.
Michon was in love, as totally and completely as a woman was capable of. She was bound to Chas with a cord stronger than any she’d dreamed possible. It hurt. How it hurt! But Michon was alive in a way she’d never dreamed possible. And pain or ecstasy, it was worth it!
Chas? I love you. Do you know that? Will you ever tell me why the fire in your eyes burned so deeply as you lashed out at me? Can you see that I’m never going to be the same again? Do you care that I won’t let our argument drive a wedge between us?
I’m sorry. Was that what she was going to have to say? She didn’t know why Chas had reacted so violently. In truth, she barely remembered what she’d said. She would give anything to have his arms around her, his voice asking if she was all right. She understood that he had to give his attention to Harry. But was it impossible for him to turn to her in concern, too?
There hadn’t been time for that. The angry words had been spoken; the spell broken. Something she did, or said, had made him lash out.
Michon wasn’t sure how much she actually slept that night. There was a line between dreams and thought, but she couldn’t be sure where one left off and the other began. The only thing she was certain of was that the night hadn’t given her any answers. There was still the message of Chas’s eyes. She’d done or said something he couldn’t forgive.
As the first rays of morning touched the barren peaks around them, Michon rose and went down to the river. She walked along the bank until she was sure she was out of sight of the others and quickly stripped. She shuddered and gasped as the cold water hit her naked form, but she willed herself to stay in the river until she’d soaped and rinsed. She toweled off and applied lotion to several rough areas, but didn’t bother with makeup. She lifted her head to greet the morning sun as she toweled her hair and ran her fingers through it to lift it from her scalp. The last residue of her life with Chantilla was gone. She felt as if she were totally a child of the John Day River.
When Michon returned to the camp, giggles greeted her. The girls were protesting because the boys refused to leave them alone long enough for them to get dressed. It was only by planting herself in front of the girls and placing her hands firmly on her hips that she got the boys to wander off.
“I love it!” Shanna giggled as she struggled into a skintight pair of jeans. “When I go to college I’m going to insist on a coed dorm.”
Michon noticed that when Shanna left the girls’ sleeping quarters Skip was waiting for her, and she wondered, despite herself, what had gone on between the two after she’d gone to bed. Michon had to admit that she was a little nervous about what they were going to do after breakfast. Obviously she couldn’t give approval to continuing their expedition. But what were they going to do with the day if Chas and the boys didn’t return?
The question didn’t have to be answered. Bacon was still cooking when one of the girls pointed. Over the top of the hill came four figures, the lead one a form Michon would never forget. For a moment she stared at Chas, recording all over again his casual, yet self-confident walk, the way his jeans molded themselves to his lean hips. Michon stifled a shuddering breath, grateful that he was too far away to see the flush in her cheeks.
Chas was back. For the moment that was enough. “How’s Harry?” she asked when the men were a few feet away.
Chas stared at her without warmth and then spoke in a voice intended to reach everyone. “Harry’s in a hospital in Madras. We were lucky. A county sheriff’s deputy was at the park. He took Harry with him. Harry was probably in the hospital before dark.”
“You spent the night at the park?” Michon asked. “Why didn’t you come back?”
“Carrying a man is work. Besides, there was no reason to hurry back.”
Michon recoiled from the deeper meaning of his words. His feelings for her hadn’t changed. Whatever she’d said or done to make him lash out was still the overriding force in his emotions. “He—was it hard on Harry?” she asked in a confused attempt to turn the conversation around.
“I did the best I could to make him comfortable,” Chas bit out. “I’m aware that you doubt my ability in that area. Is that breakfast? We haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Michon hurried to the fire and prepared four large plates of bacon, scrambled eggs, and slightly sooty toast for them. She hoped for something, any sign of relenting in Chas, but he accepted the plate without a word. She ached with the need to demand an explanation, but there were too many ears around. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. Michon sat some distance from him. Even now, despite the invisible barrier between them, Michon couldn’t keep her eyes off Chas. She was fascinated by the way his jaw worked as he chewed, the easy way he balanced his plate on his knees, as if sitting at a table with a linen napkin in his lap was a foreign experience.
Didn’t he want any more nights in a wilderness cabin? Was it over? Why?
And how was she going to survive with that death sentence hanging over her? What she felt was an emotion beyond tears. As her eyes, mind, and heart recorded his movements she accepted the fact that without him she was as good as dead. There might be years of breathing ahead of her, but without Chas she’d be stripped of a reason to breathe.
Finally Chas rose and faced the teenagers. “We’re off schedule,” he explained. “I don’t know if we can make up time today, but if we
can’t I’m not going to let it worry me. I’d like to get as far as Clarno but it might not be possible.”
“We’re going to go on?” Skip asked. “I thought, without Harry—”
Chas stopped him. “The last thing Harry said was for us to finish the trip for him. If there’s anyone who doesn’t want to, now’s the time to say so.”
Michon bit her lip. If she wanted to preserve her sanity she should walk away now. But if she did she might never see Chas again, never have the chance to find out what had gone wrong. There was too much at stake to back down now. “I don’t think there’s anyone who wants to bail out,” she said.
“Someone has to be responsible for the girls,” he said. “That’s what you signed on for.”
“Thank you for admitting that,” Michon snapped, to hide her turmoil. “Does that mean I’m going to get a gold star at the end of this?”
Chas ignored her comment. “You’ll have to travel with me,” he pointed out. “The canoe you were in isn’t going anywhere.”
“It was your favorite. Chas, I’m sorry about what happened to it.”
“So am I,” he said as he turned away.
Michon stared after him. For a moment she struggled with the impulse to hurl the cast-iron skillet she was drying at him. Instead she lowered it and laughed shakily. At least that reaction was easier to deal with than despair.
Michon didn’t give herself time to think about how she felt about being in the same canoe with Chas. Because they were late in starting, she hurried to pack and load her belongings. She couldn’t help but feel proud because she now felt competent with that chore.
They’d been in the river for almost a half hour before Michon broke the frozen silence. She wanted to press Chas for details about his sudden flash of temper, but opted for a safer topic. “Do you think Harry injured more than his ribs?”
“A few bruises. Some water in his lungs.”
Michon curled her lip, secure that Chas couldn’t see her gesture from his position behind her. Obviously he wasn’t interested in starting a lengthy conversation. “Was he in a lot of pain when you were carrying him?”
Chas was slow in answering. “I don’t think so. He didn’t have to move around much. Aren’t you going to ask how the trip was on me?”
“I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you were going to tell me,” she said shortly.
“You’re right.”
Michon allowed silence to settle over them again. If he wasn’t the most infuriating man! She could slap him, demand something of him. But she couldn’t. People were entitled to private thoughts. He’d only resent her more if she pressed him. She tried to concentrate on paddling and taking pictures, but her fingers were strangely numb, as if something had stripped them of their nerves. She knew it wasn’t because of any physical weakness; rather, she was all too aware of Chas seated behind her. She found herself unable to concentrate on anything else until they entered a canyon. Its steep sides blocked off the outside world, leaving Michon with the sense of being trapped within the power of nature. She accepted the sensation for what it was and took several shots, aiming the camera almost straight up. They’d barely left the high walls when the river sucked them into the middle of another canyon. The river became narrow and deeper at this point, its course forced by the massive canyon sides surrounding them. Again Michon took out her camera, cutting down on the shutter speed to allow for the deep shadows.
“It doesn’t bother you?” Chas asked.
“Being in the canyon? Why should it?” If Chas was determined to keep their conversation impersonal, she was going to play the game by his rules.
“I don’t know. A lot of people don’t like it. They say they feel trapped. This one’s Rattlesnake Canyon.”
“This looks like a country a rattlesnake would go for,” she observed.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Chas sounded even more confused.
“Of course not. I’d dare say rattlesnakes have been here a lot longer than humans. What do you want me to do, squeal and carry on because I’m scared? I respect rattlers but I’m not going to turn into a quivering bowl of Jell-O.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Chas replied. “I just haven’t met many women who hear the canyon’s name without reacting negatively.”
“Is that what April did? Did she shudder?”
“April said that if rattlesnakes were here she didn’t want anything to do with the place.”
Michon couldn’t keep herself from shaking her head. April. Of course April had to enter the conversation. “Chas, all women aren’t the same. I’m going to keep my distance from rattlers, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want this experience.”
“I don’t understand you.” Chas’s words were buffeted by the wind trapped in the canyon, but they still reached Michon.
“That makes two of us,” she laughed bitterly. “I don’t understand you either.”
It was midafternoon by the time the expedition came within sight of the arched Clarno Bridge and Chas signaled that they were to come ashore. Before long the teenagers had scattered as they went about exploring the flat land around their campsite. Michon toyed with the idea of starting dinner, but decided to follow the teens’ lead. She glanced at Chas, but the guide seemed more concerned with examining his canoe than with what she was doing.
Michon wandered off, frowning slightly at the telephone poles and dirt roads of Clarno that she saw as an invasion on the land. She would have given more than she’d admit to have Chas with her, to see if they could not speak openly about what had gone wrong between them yesterday. But it wasn’t to be. Obviously he wanted nothing more to do with her.
Michon found herself staring up at what had once been a schoolhouse. She took note of its still-intact roof, the bell tower standing as if in readiness for students to enter. She wasn’t brave enough to try the front door, but stood staring in one of the windows. The interior was barren but in her mind’s eye she saw the rows of old-fashioned desks linked together. Yes, there was the teacher. It was herself, dressed in long frontier garb, hair piled high and primly on her head, ruffled sleeves reaching almost to her fingertips.
“Chas said it was built in 1914. It’s stood up pretty well, hasn’t it?”
Michon turned to face one of the young men who’d helped carry Harry. “Don’t tell me you’re giving a history lesson?” she joked. “I thought the only thing you cared about was who got into the Super Bowl.”
The boy laughed. “My folks won’t believe it. Neither will my history teacher. But I’m a lot more interested in history than I was before this trip. Chas and Harry talked a lot about the area yesterday.”
“Harry talked? I didn’t think—I’m surprised he felt like it.”
The youth shrugged. “Maybe he needed to keep his mind off what he was feeling. I think his shoulder was bothering him more than his ribs.”
“His shoulder?” Michon frowned. “The bursitis. He told you about that?”
“Yep. The old goat admitted that was what caused the accident. Said he didn’t have any strength and couldn’t keep his end of the canoe away from the rocks.”
For a moment Michon could only stare. Chas knew about Harry’s bursitis. Why hadn’t he said anything? She turned toward the river, but Chas was little more than a dot. She forced herself to continue the conversation with the boy for another couple of minutes and then excused herself. This tiptoeing around each other’s feelings was going to end.
If Chas heard her coming he didn’t make any indication. He was applying duct tape to a canoe when she approached, his strong hands smoothing down the edges to make a tight seal. Michon refused to let her eyes stray to his lean form. Instead she concentrated on the thick thatch of hair and steeled herself against what she was afraid she’d see in his dark eyes.
“We have to talk,” she heard herself say.
Chas rose silently, thigh muscles becoming taut as he came off his haunches. “I don’t think so.”
Mi
chon recoiled inwardly, but she forced herself not to take a backward step. “You’re wrong,” she pressed. “Everything that happened yesterday was wrong.”
“There isn’t anything to talk about.”
“Isn’t there?” she challenged. “Chas, we were both upset yesterday. We said things we regretted.”
His eyes were angry brands. “The truth comes out when people are under stress.”
“What did I say? Chas, you know about Harry’s shoulder. You know he didn’t have enough strength. You don’t still blame me for the accident, do you?”
“No.”
Michon took a deep breath. No? He didn’t blame her? “Then what’s wrong? I know you were upset when you yelled at me. I’m not going to hold that against you.”
“How kind of you.” Chas held up his hand to stop whatever she might want to say. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he relented. “I’m sorry I jumped at you like I did. I was thinking of Harry, what I felt when he hit the rocks.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Chas stared at her without blinking. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“No.” There was a sob in her voice, but Michon was beyond caring. “I don’t know. Chas, what did I say?”
“I think you remember.” He stepped forward, placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him until they were only inches apart. “Maybe you don’t want to tell me, but I know what your true feelings toward me are.”
Michon felt herself go weak. Trembling, heart beating a wild tattoo against her breasts, she waited for whatever punishment was coming. Punishment was in the form of a savage kiss that burned and ripped. She closed her eyes, swaying in his grip. The river sounds, the feel of the wind pulling at her hair, the small tired ache in her shoulders, all that became nothing as her entire being surrendered to the kiss that consumed her. Michon grabbed weakly at him as she struggled to keep from collapsing. Her head was flung back, legs slightly spread for balance, hungry for the pain and ecstasy she knew he was flinging her way.
