Time Is a River

by Mary Alice Monroe

  She laughed out loud. All that was missing was a bunch of old men and their fishing gear. She could almost smell the tobacco. It was a compact space with one main room dominated by a fireplace made of river rocks. The dark wood walls were bare. She imagined this was where fish stories were shared on cool nights as unshaven men smoked pipes and clustered around the fire in rocking chairs.

  In the pale light, the room appeared ghostly with sheets covering heavy pieces of furniture and threadbare curtains loosely draped around paned windows. Motes of dust rose in the stirred air as her boots left muddy prints across the floor. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was disturbing the peace of the ancient anglers that still hovered here. When the door clicked shut behind her she startled in the tomblike room.

  “Well, let’s take a look,” Belle said, grabbing the box from Mia and setting it down on the table across the room. She turned slowly, lips pursed as her gaze swept around. When she faced Mia again she set her hands on her hips and shrugged. “Could be worse.” After cracking a wry grin she shook her head. “But not much. I told you it hadn’t been used in years.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Mia replied, but her voice lacked conviction. “Mostly it’s just dirty.”

  “It’s filthy. A haven for spiders and mice, looks like to me. I’d understand if you changed your mind. It’s too late to head back to Charleston but you can stay at my place tonight.”

  “Really, it’s OK.”

  Belle looked at Mia with the same intensity as when studying the waters. “You ever spend time up in the mountains? Alone?”

  Mia shook her head no.

  Belle rubbed her jaw, struggling with her reply. “Let me show you around. You haven’t even seen the whole place yet. It’s pretty rugged. There’s no central heat, not to mention air conditioning.” She turned and walked to the small kitchen. “This is an add-on to the original cabin. At least they made the ceilings a little higher,” she said, craning her neck to look at the wood trusses and beams. “I don’t imagine those old codgers gave much mind to cooking back when this place was built. It was updated in the nineteen thirties, I figure. Electricity was added, gas, some more modern appliances. All relative, keep in mind. Look at this old stove, will you?” she said, walking to an antique cast-iron and enamel stove. “This has to be an original.”

  Mia warily eyed the black iron behemoth that dominated the small kitchen. “Is it safe?”

  “This thing? As far as I know it’s in working condition. No warping or cracks. This one was taken care of, you can tell. Though it sat here for a long while.” Her face softened and she spoke with a tone of reminiscence. “My mama had a wood-burning stove in our house in Virginia. We also had a modern one, of course, but she had a soft spot for the old ones. She used to claim a biscuit tasted best when baked in an old cast-iron stove. I’m kind of partial to them myself. Nothing better to keep a house warm on a cold night. I intend to keep this beauty. It’s a collector’s item.” She patted the cast iron and said, “They just don’t build ’em like they used to.”

  Belle opened the enamel oven door, then let it slam shut with a grimace. “Looks like some mice and critters took up residence in there. Just needs a good cleaning out. This oven will burn with some dry wood.”

  “I’m never cooking on that thing.”

  “Never say never. When the electricity goes out, and it will with every big storm, you’ll be glad to have this old wood-burning stove around. Otherwise, this here gas stove might only have two burners but it’ll do the job for you. Same with this old fridge.”

  She pointed to a small enamel fridge with rounded edges. Both it and the stove looked like they were bought after the war. Which war, Mia didn’t dare guess.

  Belle opened the fridge. It was heavy but swung easily. The inside was clean. “It’s a bit rusty. But it’s cold. A guy I know comes in to check on the place to make sure everything is in working order.”

  “With my cooking, it won’t make much of a difference. But I am curious about the bathroom.”

  “You mean the outhouse?”

  Mia’s face froze.

  Belle laughed. “Sorry, it was too easy. It’s over here.”

  The small room had only one undersize window and was hardly a place for a luxurious soak. The porcelain commode was minuscule, the tiny sink had a nasty crack, and the claw-footed tub was badly stained. “There’s only cold running water. That’s spring water. So when I say cold, I mean cold.”

  “As long as I can pee without something coming up to bite me in the ass, I’ll manage.”

  “I hear that.” Belle shook her head and chuckled. “I’m installing a new hot-water heater. I’ll prod George to get going on that right away. Until then, you’ll have to heat water on the stove. OK, let’s see what we got in here.” She moved on to the small room next to the bathroom and opened the door.

  Perhaps it was the whisk of wind from the opened door. Or maybe it was the pale white linen against the window, but something made the hairs along Mia’s neck rise when she stepped into the bedroom.

  “There should be a light switch somewhere,” Belle said, fumbling along the wall. Finding none, she walked to the small bedside lamp. “There, that’s better,” she said as soft light filled the room.

  “Why, this is a woman’s room,” Mia said, surprised. She’d expected to find rotting waders and boots, red and black checked wool blankets, and other masculine items. Instead the black iron bed was made up with a linen quilt and shams boldly embroidered with flowers and the dark green initials KW. A jewel-toned hooked rug lay beneath the bed, and over a long mahogany dresser was an elaborate Venetian mirror that was out of place against the rough cabin walls.

  Belle’s face was sober. “It was.” She turned on her heel and walked out. “Let’s see what’s upstairs.”

  Mia had a thousand questions lingering on her tongue to ask about the woman who loved fine, feminine things but lived out here in the wilderness. But she refrained from asking even one and, instead, silently followed Belle up the steep, narrow stairs. This was a gaunt room, barren of furniture save for a window seat under a row of dingy, small windows. At one end sat another fireplace, smaller than the one downstairs. An old wooden toy lay beside it. Curious, Mia went to pick it up.

  “It’s a toy caboose! Someone carved it from a single piece of wood. It’s beautifully done.” She handed it to Belle. “Odd that it’s here in a fishing cabin.”

  Belle took the toy and lifted it in her hand as though weighing it. “Back when, this would have been a garret where they put the bunks for fishing trips.” Then, handing the caboose back to her, she added, “But my mother was raised in this house, so I guess it’s likely she played in here.”

  “Your mother grew up in this cabin?” It seemed impossible that any child would be brought up in such a remote place.

  “That’s right.”

  “Was that her room downstairs?”

  Belle shook her head. “My mother married young and left soon after. She never came back. I never knew my grandmother. That was her room.” Belle spoke through tightened lips and her tone implied that she didn’t want to discuss this further.

  When they returned to the main room Belle appeared restless. She walked around pulling the sheets off the few pieces of furniture. The Victorian pieces were large and cumbersome, more fitting a grand room than a small wood cabin. An ornate, blue velvet sofa was badly faded and worn. The pedestal mahogany dining table was too large for the small space even with all the leaves removed. Most imposing of all was an enormous armoire adorned with the carving of the head of a stag with antlers.

  “Wow,” was all Mia could say.

  “They look ridiculous in here.”

  “They’re beautiful. Just…out of place.”

  Belle scowled as she looked at them. “Everything about this place is, well, never mind.” She rolled up the sheets with a punching motion. Then she turned to face Mia.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered t
his place to you. It’s really rough and I’m worried whether you’re up to staying this far out on your own. This isn’t some romantic getaway. You can’t pick up the phone and order room service. I care about you but I’m not going to be able to be at your beck and call. I’m going out of town soon and I won’t be here to look out after you.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” she replied defensively. Though in her heart, that was exactly what she hoped for.

  “This part of western North Carolina has high mountains, small towns, and a lot of wilderness in between. Your cell phone is unreliable if you have an emergency. If you get a lot of rain you’ll need a four-wheel drive to get out. You’re probably stuck right now. And what are you going to do if the power goes out? It gets cold up here. Do you even know how to start a fire?”

  “I was a Girl Scout. And I’ve got matches.”

  Belle’s hand slid to her head and she scratched it. “Can you shoot?”

  Mia laughed lightly. “A gun? Good God, no.”

  “It’d be better if you did. What are you going to do if some animal comes knockin’ on your door?”

  “Human or other?”

  “I’m serious. I’m not just talking about little raccoons. There are bears and venomous snakes to deal with. Maybe a sick or rabid animal. They’re dangerous and you’ve got to know how to recognize them and deal with them. And you have to know your way around. You can get lost in these mountains and no one would know.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?”

  “I’m trying to tell you what’s real up here. Nature isn’t always pretty. It can be damned heartless.”

  Mia’s heart began pounding as a knot of pressure caused her throat to tighten. “I know about cruel and heartless.”

  Belle shook her head and looked at her boots. “Shit. Mia, I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know what you meant.” She hated the tears that were welling in her eyes. “Belle, I know I’m not a mountain woman—far from it. I’ve got a lot to learn. But hey. You called me a survivor. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Mia, it does. Of course. But be realistic.”

  “I am. My reality is pretty harsh. I’m thirty-eight and I’ve lost my left breast, my hair, my job, and my husband. I haven’t any money to rent a place. This is my only chance! I have to stay. Belle, I have to find out what the hell I’m surviving for.”

  She was embarrassed for the flash of pain in her eyes that compelled Belle to turn away. She lowered her tone but her voice still trembled. “So much has happened so fast I haven’t had a chance to make sense of what’s happened to my body…to me. A survivor? I’ve never felt so lost or afraid. But I’m more afraid of going back home than anything I might face here.”

  Belle shifted her weight and crossed her arms in thought. Mia knew that as a guide Belle took inexperienced men and women into the wild every day. She’d seen some pretty stupid things damn near get folks killed, and it made her cautious. Mia also knew that Belle saw her as weakened, damaged. It would be against her nature to leave someone wounded and inexperienced alone in the wilderness. Yet Belle had witnessed the courage of the survivors at the retreat.

  “Please, Belle. Let me stay.”

  Belle looked at the rain splattering the glass. When she turned again to Mia, she saw that the woman’s mind was made up.

  “You’ll have to return home someday, you know. You can’t hide out here forever.”

  Mia took a breath, unaware that she’d been holding it. “Even Sleeping Beauty had to wake up sometime.”

  Belle returned a commiserating smile. “This is a far cry from a palace. But it’s a start.” She took a deep breath, resigned to her decision. She leaned against the table and uncrossed her arms. “Mia, I inherited the cabin only last winter after my mother died. Like I said, she and my grandmother had a falling out and didn’t communicate, not once in my lifetime, so I never came up here, never saw the place.” She stopped. “Truth is, I never wanted to come.” She pursed her lips, holding in words.

  “After the funeral I got the deed and the keys,” Belle continued, her dark gaze sweeping again the cabin, “I felt duty bound to take a look. It gets pretty cold up here in the winter. The roads were icing up and I didn’t spend much time. It was really nothing more than a walk-through. Maybe it was grief that blinded me, I don’t know, but it didn’t look so bad back then. My plan was to clean it up this summer, maybe get the place rewired, make a few improvements, and add that water heater. Get it ready before the fall hunting and fishing season kicked in. Then I figured I’d rent it.” Belle looked at her boots. “But I don’t have money to pour into it and I’ll be in Scotland most of the summer.”

  “But that’s our deal. I’ll clean it for you in exchange for rent.”

  “I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re a lifesaver. And I’m a hard worker. I’ll get it done.” She smirked. “Even that old stove.”

  Belle whistled softly, acknowledging the battle that task would be. She walked over to the box and pulled out a bottle of white wine. “You’re going to need this.”

  “Bless you.”

  Next she took out a down blanket, fresh sheets, several candles, a big bar of soap, white towels, rolls of bathroom tissue, and lastly a bag from a fast-food restaurant. The scent of greasy French fries and hot coffee wafted into the air. When she was done she turned to Mia, studying her again.

  “This isn’t some wager, Mia. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t want you to think you’re failing if you decide it isn’t working for you up here.”

  “I won’t,” she said, and felt enormously grateful.

  “Tell you what, friend. Let’s take it a week at a time. No commitments. You might get antsy up here all alone, or come face-to-face with a bear and commence running.”

  Mia chuckled softly. “I just might. Week by week it is.”

  “And you know I have to rent it in the fall,” she said in warning. “If you want to stay longer, it’ll cost you.”

  “One summer,” Mia agreed. “Right now, that feels like a lifetime.”

  Before leaving, Belle helped Mia put the fresh sheets on the bed and lit a roaring fire that warmed the cabin and took the edge off the stark sense of isolation. Belle also gave her a local map of Asheville and its surrounding areas and marked the location of the cabin with a big X. Then she drew the unmarked road that would lead her from the cabin to Watkins Mill, the nearest town.

  Belle turned at the door and hugged Mia fiercely. “I care about you, kiddo. Fighting demons is all fine and good. But sometimes you just have to have a good time. Be good to yourself up here. And remember. Trout live in beautiful places.”

  Chapter Two

  The river has taught me to listen; you will learn from it, too. The river knows everything; one can learn everything from it. You have already learned from the river that it is good to strive downwards, to sink, to seek the depths.

  HERMANN HESSE, SIDDHARTHA

  Night falls heavy in the mountains. Once settled, the darkness has a presence that is palpable.

  Mia sat on the ancient velvet sofa, wrapped in a wool blanket that smelled of must and smoke. She should have fallen asleep in exhaustion, yet her mind would not rest. It kept traveling over the same rugged terrain of memories, carrying her, an unwilling passenger, along.

  It was a dank night and the old cabin was cobwebbed and filthy, more fit for bear than human. Across from her the logs smoldered in the fireplace. She idly stoked the embers and watched the flames lick and snap at the wood. Mia was acutely aware that she was utterly alone, without a telephone, television, radio, or any man-made distraction to deflect the night’s power. She felt an overwhelming loneliness. It was so strong it felt like a sickness. It made her head pound and her body shiver, no matter how tight her thin arms held the blanket around her shoulders.

  Perhaps Belle was right after all, she thought. What was she doing here? Was she clutching
to some romantic notion of a cabin in the woods? Of being alone in the mountains so she could sort out her life? But that was just it—she was alone in the mountains. Be careful what you wish for, she chided herself. This wasn’t some silly notion any longer. It was all very real. The dust and dark were real. The hoots and snaps and rustlings outside the window were real. No one would come running if she called for help. The power could go out at any moment, and then what would she do?

  Outside the wind continued to blow and the hovering trees scraped their branches against the glass, like bony fingers tapping to get in. Her mind started playing tricks on her and she wondered wildly if that tapping wasn’t a tree, but a bear…or a man? She’d read Deliverance. She knew what could happen in the wild of these mountains where men with bad teeth and worse lineage roamed. Three eerie, mournful hoots of an owl broke the silence, ending with a catlike snarl.

  The last time she was in the mountains she was at the retreat with eighteen other women. There had been comfort in camaraderie. Here, the blackness outside felt too big, the unknown too threatening. Blood drumming in her ears, Mia jumped up to close and lock each of the windows, then tugged the thin curtains shut.

  She crossed the creaking floor to the kitchen. The old wood stove was a hulking beast in the corner. She skirted around it and commenced opening the drawers, her spirits sinking further at the mice droppings and medieval-looking kitchen appliances she found. She pulled out a ten-inch carving knife with a thick, wooden handle. It was heavy—probably used to skin a bear—but it made a very serious weapon. She carried it with her as she checked again the lock on the front door, and then for good measure wedged a chair under the door handle.