Riding the Thunder

by Deborah MacGillivray

  She bit back words yearning to be set free, to let him know how deeply he touched her heart, how quickly he’d become a part of her life, her soul. Only, she was still too unsure how he would accept the words . . . if he would accept them. Would he believe her? People said I love you too frequently, devalued its importance.

  Foolishly, she’d once thought she loved Justin. Now she saw she had loved the idea of being in love. Her pride had been stung over the breakup, and ridiculously she’d permitted the incident to cause her ego and self-confidence to suffer. As she stared at the handsome man, sharing the simple pleasure of the lock, she knew beyond doubt, she’d never experienced what he brought her.

  “What’s that?” He pointed to the tall A-frame structure at the pinnacle of the hill behind them.

  “The bell tower.” She tugged on his hand leading him toward it, aware that was the spot Tommy had first kissed Laura, the recollection strong in her consciousness.

  Sadly, the fifteen-foot tower was now neglected, same as all the support and maintenance areas of the whole complex. Benches had been built into either side of the open A-frame, where people could sit and wait for the lockmaster. She explained, “Anyone wanting to be locked through, landed and rang the bell, and eventually the lockmaster came and would start the locking process. People going downriver would pull in, then the water would lower and the gates opened on that level. Those coming upriver entered and had to wait while the lock filled. I can recall swimming here and having to get out while the barges were passing through, how dangerous the water was rushing from—”

  Asha caught herself. She realized she’d never seen a barge locking through. But Laura had. Jago never said a word. Even so, she saw comprehension in his eyes. She wondered if he felt any of the past that swirled about them like the mist conjured by the falls. The air was so laden with moisture; it beat down upon them like rain, mixing with the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

  He pulled her to him, kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead and each eyelid in turn, in a quiet desperation that touched her soul. Then his mouth claimed hers again, this time with searing passion, and something gentler: the rare, elusive power of love—their love and Tommy and Laura’s. He backed her against a rounded column of the tower and kissed her.

  The beauty, the poignancy lanced her heart.

  Suddenly the bell rang out, causing them to break apart. Curious, they glanced up, wondering what had set the old metal clapper to sounding. The pull-rope had long ago broken off, dry-rotted with age and exposure; someone would have to stand on the bench to reach it. Looking at the wooden planks, it was doubtful they would hold weight. The breeze was not strong enough to move the heavy bell.

  Shaking his head in perplexity, Jago turned her to face the waterfall. He locked his arms about her, flexed his strong muscles and pulled her back tightly against his chest. For several minutes they just stood like that, him rubbing his cheek against the side of her head. Swaying slightly, they soaked up the contentment of being with each other, and just enjoyed the sound of the falls.

  “What’s on the other side?” He leaned his head, his mouth next to her ear and nodded toward the cliffs of the far bank. “Up there?” His tone was casual, but she picked up a sense of quiet purpose within the words.

  “Just the cliffs. Men often get dropped there, so they can fish from the ledges. Others tie up where we did and then walk across the waterfall.”

  “You’re kidding. What madness is that?”

  “Crossing as you see it now, you’d be swept over. It’d be a miracle if you didn’t die. However, during summer the water often gets so low you see the riverbed on the upper pool. I’ve seen it where the bottom is showing about a third of the way from this shore. When it gets like that, there’s no flow over the weir. No falls. There’s a service path, a lip along the front of it; you can easily cross then. Sometimes, men are foolish enough to walk that with the water running high. But with the force of that water—millions of gallons a day—you don’t play with it.”

  “What’s behind the cliffs?”

  “A forest.”

  “And beyond the forest?”

  “Farmland along Highway 27. I should imagine that’s near the Buena Vista turnoff.”

  “Bue-nah viztah? Don’t you mean bwe-nah vees-tah,” he teased about the way the locals pronounced names.

  She smiled. “I was here visiting mum once at the lodge, and they had tornado warnings on the radio. The announcer was new to the area, and he gave the alarm for Garrod County, with the normal French pronunciation. The DJ came on and said to tell them it was Gar-rod County, with the hard G sound, or they wouldn’t know it was for them.”

  “Okay, so what does being near Bue-nah Vista have to do with what I asked?”

  “We followed the river coming to the lock. It snakes around and around, miles to ride down, but not that far as the crow flies. That’s one of the highest peaks in the area, hence the name. You can see the river in the distance from the highway, right there at the turn off. If I recall correctly, farms are there.”

  “Then you wouldn’t have much trouble getting up there on that last knoll before the cliffs?”

  “You’d have to walk through the woods.” Asha turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Why? You’re thinking of buying that, too?”

  “Now, be nice.” He shrugged. “I noticed a reflection up there. A flash. I wondered what was up there, how easily you can access it.”

  “A reflection?”

  He nodded faintly. He stayed, holding her in the embrace, watching the river. After a couple minutes, he said, “There.”

  Asha had to blink the tears from her eyes to spot it—a hard glare, like off a glass or a mirror, right at the crest of the woods. Since the afternoon sun was setting behind the cliffs, she started to use her hand to block the harsh light to see better. Jago caught her hand, preventing her from lifting it.

  “Don’t.” His quiet tone was making her uneasy.

  It could be anyone—a hiker, a farmer, even someone camping. With the woods and river undeveloped, it drew people hiking or canoeing. As she followed Jago down the path to the beach to pack up and leave, she pondered why she had the feeling whoever was up there was none of those things.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As Asha walked down the center isle between the booths of the restaurant, Melvin Johnson called to her over the Wednesday breakfast clatter.

  “Hey, Asha, what the hell is that?” Using his fork he pointed at Sam who fed the fat cat on the glassed-in porch. “Did you get Sam a new combination garbage disposal and dishwasher?” Everyone joined Melvin in a good laugh.

  “I think the thing has declared himself The Windmill’s official mascot, though he’s really Jago’s cat,” she answered, pulling a small strip of clear tape from the dispenser she carried.

  “Really? Didn’t know the Brit had a cat.” Taking a sip of his coffee, Melvin watched her.

  “A recent addition,” she commented with a smile.

  He stabbed the yolk on his egg and then sopped it up with his toast. “Gossip says that man’s been adding a lot the past few days, buying Derek’s Shelby and then Dale’s Harley. Who’d he buy the cat from?”

  She chuckled. “In this instance, I think the cat acquired him.”

  “What’s with the sign?” he asked next.

  “You’re full of questions this morning, Melvin.” Asha taped the corners of the plastic HELP WANTED sign to the front window. “I’m hiring a couple part-time waitresses so that you and the others will stop grousing at me about not getting service fast enough.”

  “Where’s Netta? She always keeps my cup topped off.” Melvin held up his half-filled mug, letting her know it was in need of attention.

  “Netta is at Juanita’s getting her hair done. Besides, she can’t do everything around here. The lass needs some helping hands. I let Rhonda go—though I am sure she’ll put it about that she walked out on me.” Asha poured coffee for Melvin. She looked out the bi
g windows, spotting Netta’s beat-up Hyundai pull into the lot and park at the side where employees did.

  “That ain’t Juanita anymore,” Melvin informed her. “She died about twenty-five years ago. The owner is Daisy Mason now; she just never changed the name of the beauty parlor since Juanita’s is sort of a local landmark in Leesburg. She bought it from Juanita’s granddaughter after her granny died. She tried for a few weeks to call it Daisy’s Wash and Curl, but everyone grumbled; she changed it back to keep them happy.”

  Asha paused and considered Melvin. “You were around here back in the ’60s? Did you know Tommy Grant or Laura Valmont?”

  “Yeah, I did.” He took a sip of his coffee, hesitating. “Tommy was already at UK when I went to Leesburg High. Laura was in my American History class, though I didn’t know her well. She was a grade ahead of me and only moved to Leesburg a year or so before, if I recall right. My cousin, Junior, took her to the prom.”

  Asha thought back on the prom night she’d witnessed through Laura’s eyes, recalling how Laura had hunted for Junior to take her home after she fought with Tommy. It was so strange, to already know the pieces of the past of which Melvin spoke, see them so vividly in her mind. Laura Valmont’s memories were now hers.

  “She didn’t socialize much, just followed Tommy around all the time.” Melvin’s eyes shifted uneasily to the jukebox. “They used to come here a lot, played that thing all the time and slow-danced in the aisles, like all the kids did back then. The Windmill and the old skate rink were about the only places for young people to hang out.”

  Asha watched the Wurlitzer, which sedately played the beautiful “Greenfields” by The Brothers Four, almost expecting it to switch in mid-song to Ray Peterson crooning about Tommy and Laura. She muttered under her breath, “Yeah, damn machine is being good now—Colin is running around with a screwdriver.”

  She shivered when the song hit the lyrics, “We were the lovers, who strolled those greenfields.” Turning her attention back to Melvin, she asked. “What happened to them?”

  The man made a sour face, clearly uneasy with the subject. He shrugged. “Died.”

  Asha felt as if she’d taken a hard blow to her heart, all the sadness she’d experienced at the skating rink returning tenfold. For some reason, Laura’s ghost was touching her life, showing her the past. It made her grasp the back of the booth to steady herself. “Died? How?”

  “That’s right—you didn’t grow up around here, did you? Maybe you’d better ask those who know more about them. There’s one or two around,” he said cryptically.

  “Melvin, I’ll have Sam double the filè powder in your gumbo Thursday night,” she threatened.

  “People around here respect the dead, give them their rights. You don’t speak of those who died violently. It calls them back, holds them here when they need to move on.” Clearly uncomfortable, he checked his watch. “I need to get to work. I’ll let you know about my brother-in-law, if he’d be interested in that job replacing the ceiling tiles. Can I get my ticket?”

  Asha nodded and went to the front to check him out. Melvin’s reaction bothered her, but she didn’t push. He picked up his usual peppermint from the bowl by the register and unwrapped the cellophane. Popping it into his mouth, he then scooped up his change and stuck the coins in his pants pocket. His gray eyes showed regret. He hesitated before going to the door.

  “Look, it ain’t a memory I use for gossip,” he offered as a reason for his behavior.

  She nodded, understanding more than he’d ever know. “I wasn’t gossiping. I’m truly interested in what happened to them.”

  Melvin shot another fleeting glare at the Wurlitzer. “Yeah, guess you have cause. They were two nice people, very much in love, and died tragically. A car crash out on the old river road, along that dangerous stretch back before they put in the bypass and the new bridge. Tommy evidently crossed the centerline, trying to pass a cement truck, and too late saw a semi bearing down. He swerved, judging from the tracks on the road, but the Peterbilt smashed into the Mustang’s side, killing Laura instantly. I didn’t see it happen, just came up minutes later. Tommy was alive for a few moments when we reached him. The steering wheel shoved half into his chest, he was holding her hand and trying to call her name. It wasn’t pretty, Asha.” Tears filled his eyes. “To this day I’ll never forget those poor people. They should’ve had a good life, had grandkids by now. I didn’t know them all that well, but coming upon that wreck left deep scars in me. Taught me the value of each day, you know. Sometimes life just ain’t fair.”

  Netta waltzed in through the front door as Melvin departed. He barely muttered a hello to her before rushing out. She lifted her brows, shrugged and came around the counter with her shopping bags.

  “Melvin seemed upset. Anything happen? La Jukebox from Hell carrying on again?”

  “Just some unhappy memories.” Asha finished drawing a Pepsi for herself, then really took a look at Netta.

  Shock was too mild of a word. Her friend had on chicly tailored black slacks, a charcoal blazer with small gold buttons and a deep blue shell blouse that made her vivid eyes seem all the more arresting. Her hair color had been toned down to a lovely shade of golden blond and the wild curls and waves were gone. In their stead was a sleek coif that ended in a small French braid, elegant and reminiscent of the beautiful actress Kim Novak. “My, aren’t you stunning!”

  Netta did a 360-degree spin to show off. “My first day as your new hostess. Will I do?”

  “You’d do to meet the Queen, though it’s a bit wasted on the bunch around here. They love you as you were. But you’re beautiful either way.”

  Winnie MacPhee raced into the restaurant, beelined to the empty booth and leaned in on her knee. With a determined look to her eyes, she snatched down the HELP WANTED sign from the window and rushed to the counter. With a nervous grin, she pushed it toward Asha.

  “Why did you go and take my sign down? I just put that up.” Asha had a feeling where this was going, and she wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

  “It says two part-time waitresses. How about one full-time instead?” Winnie stood there grinning.

  “Actually, the idea was to have two waitresses to cover the supper. Netta is my new hostess. That leaves Cathy as my only waitress through the week. I have Denise on Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “Yeah, but if you had one that came in and worked the lunch and dinner shift both, especially one with a lot of energy, maybe you don’t need two. Anyway, I want to be one. I can start whenever you like.” She waited, looking optimistic.

  Asha glanced to Netta, who merely gave her a blank stare. She was clearly making no comment, though Asha had a sense Netta echoed her own trepidation.

  “Up front—I have concerns because of Derek,” Asha admitted. “I’m not sure it’s a smart move to hire a waitress who is fighting with my busboy.”

  Winnie clapped her hands together. “I won’t be a problem. Promise. I’ll be busy waiting on customers; he’ll be in the back, or clearing tables. We won’t have to bump elbows too often. Look, you pay better than the café in Leesburg or the Dairy Wiz. I don’t want to eat up my salary in gas driving all the way to Lexington and back each day—the traffic out of that town is a major headache during rush hour. Ah, come on, Asha. The Dish Barn is cutting back on my hours. I can’t live on twenty-five hours a week. Choices are limited. Give me a chance. Please?”

  Asha sighed, knowing she was a soft touch. “Two weeks. If I catch Derek and you fussing, I’ll toss you out on your ear. No too-short skirts, too-low tops or perfume—customers might be allergic. I provide the smock aprons; you get five. If you want to work full-time, you can work 11:30 am to 7:30, Tuesday through Saturday, twelve dollars per hour plus tips.”

  “Oh, thank you! Also, may I have one of the employee cottages? I’d really like to move out of my parents’ home.”

  Asha chuckled, knowing if she let the girl have one of the cottages there went the ‘two-week trial’. Still, she und
erstood how hard it was for the kids trying to stay in the area. Choices on where to live and jobs were not good; most were forced to go elsewhere to find both. She’d always liked Winnie, and poor lass, her mother had a tongue like an adder. It must be hard living with such an overbearing woman. When Asha came back to take over running The Windmill, she’d turned it into a sanctuary for people seeking the slower path in life.

  Asha trusted her fey voice, as she had with Netta and Sam. “Okay, you can have a cottage.”

  Winnie hopped up and down and nearly jumped over the counter, leaning close to hug Asha. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! When do I start?”

  A low throttled rumble sounded, as the Shelby swung into the lot, Jago behind the wheel. Asha watched Jago stop directly in front of the door in the No Parking spot, and he and Derek got out. They’d gone to the courthouse to get the car title transferred, why Jago beamed like a proud daddy about to pass out cigars.

  “You can start today if you like. My new hostess,” she motioned to Netta, “can walk you through things and get you settled. The smocks are in the locker. Netta will show you where. Once you get your own personal locker set up, come back and fill out the application, the W-2 form, and I’ll give you a key to a cabin.”

  “Come on, sweet thing, I’ll get you squared away.” Netta smiled and pushed open the kitchen door.

  At the same time as Netta took Winnie into the kitchen, Jago and Derek pushed through the front door. Asha chuckled as both men looked back to the black car, their expressions easy to read. Jago grinned, possession clear in his eyes. Poor Derek had the wistful, sad look of one saying good-bye to his beloved.

  Jago turned to see Asha watching him and gave her a drop-dead, sexy smile. “It’s mine. All mine. Well, it’s property of Trident Ventures until I get the money transferred here.”