Love's Miracles

by Sandra Leesmith

  “Here. Take some of this and splash it on your face.” He handed her the canteen.

  Margo did as he advised. The water cooled her flushed skin. Evidently the sight of her distress had softened the edges of his need to challenge. He continued the hike at a slower pace. She decided to take advantage of his apparent softening and get him to talk about the rugged terrain.

  At first his answers were terse and to the point. But gradually he loosened up and began to really explain the geography of the area. It was as if a dam had broken and all the pent-up conversation of these past lonely months flooded out of his system.

  His extensive knowledge impressed her; the fact that he relayed it pleased her. The emotional turmoil yesterday had been worth it. At last, Zane was truly opening up.

  She could hear traces of enthusiasm in the deep rumble of his voice. When he spoke as he did now, he seemed normal and mentally healthy, with no hang-ups or fears. The contact with nature had given him one area where he could attain peace of mind.

  That was an important factor to consider. It confirmed her dreams of the coastal retreat where others could learn what Zane had. She could see, though, that she’d need to learn a lot more about country living if she wanted to participate with her patients.

  The trail angled across the slope and finally came to another forested area. The dark shad beckoned and Margo readily entered the wooded stillness.

  “It’s so quiet.” She stared upward at the tall giants. Sunlight shafted through the boughs, scarcely reaching the damp forest floor. Ferns and clover-like oxalis, lush and green, flourished in the shade.

  “Gives you a chance to think,” Zane said from behind her. “Forces you to consider your inner self – measure your worth, so to speak.”

  “Is that why you stay here in the woods? To find yourself?”

  “I know where I’m at,” he told her. “My problem is I don’t like what I know.”

  Surprised by the personal comments, Margo stopped. He’d come up beside her so she couldn’t see into his eyes. “Why is that?”

  “There’s ugliness. Guilt. Death.”

  This was territory Margo was familiar with – past the surface and to the core. She forgot about her sore feet, hungry body, and aching muscles. “Everyone has a dark side. The important thing is to realize there are other parts of yourself that are good and clean.”

  “You mean my sensitivity?” he mentioned with a touch of sarcasm. “I’m sure that’ll get me far in the world.”

  “Maybe not, but it proves whatever dark side you have, it can’t be all that hopeless.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gestured to a fallen log. “Sit down and rest.”

  Margo waited until he’d shed the day pack and settled down on the needle-carpeted floor of the forest. She didn’t need to respond to his remark; it was made in self-defense. He leaned against the redwood bark of a huge tree trunk. Ignoring the dirt, she sat opposite, where she could watch his expression closely. “You don’t know about me either. But I have my nightmares and fears. Everyone does.”

  He scoffed. “You’re one gutsy lady. I can’t imagine you with any fears.”

  “I’m afraid of the dark,” she told him simply and truthfully.

  He started to laugh, then after eyeing her carefully he asked, “What caused that?”

  Margo frowned as her nightmares came to mind. She couldn’t count the times she had awakened in a dark room to scream at her mother to turn on the lights. She knew what had caused her phobia but couldn’t seem to get it completely under control. Even being a psychologist hadn’t helped. She’d never been able to figure it out, and now wasn’t the time to try. Quickly she set aside her own problems. It was enough that she’d admitted them; she didn’t need to go into details.

  ***

  Emotions conflicted within Zane as he watched her expression closely. He was sorry he’d upset her, but at the same time he was relieved that his question had put a stop to hers.

  Why had he brought up the subject anyway? Why had he told her about the ugliness? His defenses were slipping. She did that to him. He had to keep up his guard.

  He glanced from his white-knuckled fists and into her eyes. “Forget I asked that,” he told her. “Sometimes feelings are better off hidden.”

  “Are they, Zane? If they stay inside they eat away at your confidence.”

  He looked at the understanding in her eyes, the sweep of her hair and softness of her body. It would be selfish to inflict his nightmares on her. “The telling isn’t always worth the pain.”

  “Isn’t it? The burden isn’t so heavy if you share the load.”

  “Share yours with me. Then we’ll see if you feel better.”

  He saw the backtracking in her expression. She wanted to hear about his fears but refused to talk about her own. It was typical, but he understood. She surprised him when she spoke.

  “I’ve talked about what happened. It’s helped.” She glanced away from him and looked around the quiet grove.

  Not much, he thought. The subject still bothered her and that fact bothered him. He took her hand and tugged. It brought her glance back to his, but that was a mistake. He felt swallowed by her gaze. When had he last felt this interested in another?

  “What about that lunch?” Her voice was steady and controlled. She pulled her hand from his grasp and stood. He watched her brush the forest duff from her skin. Her legs seemed to go on forever.

  “I see we have apples, too,” she said, but he wasn’t paying much attention to her words. Instead he focused on the play of the movement in her arm as she fiddled with the pack.

  “What do you want? An apple or a sandwich?”

  He gave himself an inward shake. “Both. I’m famished.” But it wasn’t for food; he wanted her.

  Zane knew she would have to forget the notion that they could work out his problems platonically. His problems were a lost cause, and so was a platonic relationship. However, he didn’t want to tell her not to come back. He’d have to work on controlling his emotions.

  It wouldn’t be easy.

  He’d bide his time. He had years of practice at that.

  As if sensing his thoughts, she handed him the food with caution. He’d give her a break.

  “Do you see that tree over there?” He pointed to the biggest trunk in the grove. “Go around to the other side and take a look.”

  Her expression shifted from wariness to interest. He leaned against the fallen log and watched her cautious steps. It was obvious she was from the city. Teaching her about nature could prove enjoyable, he mused.

  “The tree. It’s hollow. Is it still alive? How did it happen?”

  Questions. She was full of them. He could have answered her from where he sat, but like a siren she drew him. Against his better judgment, he got up and went to her.

  “Hundreds of years ago, the forest caught fire. It burned the inside.” He put his hand on her waist, enjoying the excuse for contact, and guided her to step inside the hollow trunk. “Look up. You can see the sky.”

  “I’ve heard of these,” she exclaimed. “But I’ve never seen one. How does it stay alive?”

  “Redwood bark is fire resistant.” He grasped her hand and pulled her out from the musty interior to point upward. “When the fire came through, the bark protected all of the trees but this one.”

  “And I bet you’re going to tell me why?” she observed while she slipped her hand from his.

  He eyed her closely. She was playing it cool, but amusement lit up her eyes.

  He was tempted to forget the discussion and grab her. That would be too easy. He pretended to turn his attention back to the tree.

  “There must’ve been a cut. A burning tree might’ve fallen on this one and slashed the trunk. The fire penetrated underneath the bark and burned out the core, which is not fire resistant.”

  “So, how does it stay alive, professor?”

  The nickname pleased him. He’d considered being a
college instructor at one time – before the war, before everything had changed.

  “Since the bark stays alive, it carries nutrients to the undamaged limbs and the tree continues to live on.”

  “It’s like a miracle. Too bad humans couldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Her sudden serious expression drew his curiosity.

  “Hollow out their insides and go on living without being deformed.”

  “A man can become hollow inside and keep on living,” he told her. “But it’s because his feelings have rotted away, not burned in a purifying sense.”

  “There must be a way.” She looked into his eyes. “Purifying oneself like that would save a lot of grief and pain.”

  “You worry about feelings a lot, don’t you?” He led her back into the grove. “That much concern brings more harm than good.”

  “Don’t you care for someone enough to worry about their feelings?”

  “I used to care about a lot of people.” He couldn’t stop the bitterness in his tone.

  ***

  What a loaded statement that was. She itched to delve into it, but now was not the time. Let his therapist do it. After all, this was only the first day he’d talked to her and already they’d covered more ground than she’d normally accomplish with her regular patients in months of weekly therapy. It said something about Zane’s readiness for treatment. “I’ve had enough lectures for the day.” She smiled. “How about that lunch?”

  “At your command.” He bowed and gestured toward the pack.

  Margo settled onto the forest floor and alternated between the sandwich and celery sticks. She kept her mouth full to provide a respite from talking and give herself time to think. Zane had not only begun discussing nonthreatening subjects, like geography and forest lore, but he had also delved into the personal. She should be elated but caution prevailed.

  She glanced again at the majestic trees. The grove formed a circle of serenity. Zane sat, a part of the earthy quiet. She studied his profile, still not used to the absence of his beard. In a way she couldn’t explain, he posed a threat to her. It wasn’t in his magnetism or the secrets of his past; it was the quiet strength in him, the integrity. Somehow he had the power to draw out her own vulnerabilities, something that had never happened to her.

  Zane wanted her to talk about her fears and, strangely, she wanted to. Would telling help? Forget it, kiddo. Don’t even touch the lid to that Pandora’s Box. Besides, no good therapist would discuss his or her own problems with a patient.

  She finished the sandwich and started on the fruit. Now was the time to bring up her plan, but she was reluctant to break the serenity of the moment.

  “We need to talk about the future. You’ve made a lot of progress by coming out from behind that protective wall. You’ve opened up and discussed the past, even the war.”

  He didn’t comment, but she observed that he’d stopped eating and his expression had tightened.

  Margo went on. “I think you should consider coming back to the Bay Area and enrolling in therapy sessions. There are several V.A. outreach centers that specialize in P.T.S.D., especially for veterans of Vietnam.”

  He threw his sandwich into the bag and interrupted. “Not that again. Don’t you understand? I’m not going back. I live here now.”

  “I won’t return, Zane. Therapy would never work between us.”

  His neck muscles corded the tighter he clenched his jaw. “You were the one who insisted it would.”

  She wasn’t so sure now, and it had nothing to do with his decision to accept treatment or not. It was becoming clear that she reacted to this man in more than a professional manner. It didn’t improve the situation to know he was physically interested in her. In this isolated setting, Margo was asking for trouble.

  Since the new state law on dual relationships had passed, most of the psychologists in California were very aware of the implications of a relationship between patient and client. Under no circumstances could a therapist show an interest in a patient for at least two years after the patient’s last treatment or session.

  California psychologists were being closely watched. There’d been too many recent suits filed in the state. The best thing for her to do would be to refer Zane to another psychologist and not take any unnecessary risks.

  “What about Dr. Barlow? Can I send him here to talk to you?”

  “No. The only one I’m talking to is you. And that’s final.”

  Margo sighed. She couldn’t force him to see someone else, nor could she abandon his case. She’d just have to keep working on him until he wore down and agreed.

  Zane picked up his sandwich, making it clear the subject was closed. Margo nibbled on her fruit, wondering if she could indeed pull this off. Zane had walls a mile high. It would be weeks before he handled them enough to concede to her suggestion.

  Don’t be negative, she chided. She had a track record that proved she could handle stubborn resolve. She’d get around Zane’s resistance and it wouldn’t take weeks.

  “Up to some more hiking?” Zane asked as he finished the last of his sandwich and stuffed the wrapper in the pack.

  “I enjoy the sights, but I think my body would rather rest.”

  Zane helped her up. “Come along then. Let’s head back.”

  “What I’d really like” – she handed him her trash to stow away in the pack – “is to say a magic word and be at the cabin. My feet are killing me.”

  “Blisters?” Sudden concern sounded in his voice. “Sit down and let’s have a look.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied, but after taking two steps she couldn’t hide the limp. Resigned, she sat and took off her shoes.

  “You are a tenderfoot,” he accused as he got the first-aid kit from the pack. “We’ll have to toughen you up.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m never going to be the same after today?” And that was going to be in more ways than one, she realized – emotionally as well as physically.

  Again the sense of a threat whispered through her as she watched him settle in front of her. He didn’t look at her but gently lifted her sore feet into his lap. She studied the smooth angle of his jaw and wondered just how much her life was going to change.

  Thankfully, Zane worked with impersonal efficiency. It didn’t take long to disinfect and bandage her blisters. “I know a shortcut to get home, but it’s steep in places,” he told her as he helped her upright. “Try that now. Do you think you’ll make it or will I have to carry you?”

  “Perfect,” she told him before she’d even taken a step. No way would she let him carry her.

  His skeptical glance let her know he didn’t exactly believe her, but understanding flickered and she realized he knew exactly why she insisted on being all right. For a moment, she thought he might make an issue of it; instead, he turned and headed out of the grove.

  “The shortcut’s this way. Let me know if you need a rest.”

  Margo followed. Her feet felt one-hundred-percent better. “I’ll have to admit,” she called after him, “you know what you’re doing in the first-aid department.”

  “You get training and experience with blisters when you’re in the Marines.”

  “I suppose you had lots of practice with bandages.”

  “There were lots of wounded.” He paused. “And dead.”

  Had the sight of so many wounded soldiers been the cause of his retreat into the redwoods? His last remark almost sounded like a growl. She knew the subject was closed when he picked up his pace and put distance between them. Margo wasn’t disappointed. He had volunteered information about the war.

  Margo followed along on the narrow trail. The glades of redwoods they passed through and the panoramic vistas of the rugged open spaces all added up to instill a serenity she hadn’t felt in years. She needed this, she realized. Zane was right; the wilderness helped you to come to terms with yourself.

  The feeling of peace grew for the next few minutes until Zane suddenly halted. Margo c
aught up to him and looked around for a point of interest, his usual reason for a stop. Nothing out of the ordinary stood out, only more steep cliffs and forest.

  “Need some water?” He handed her the canteen.

  Margo accepted the container and drank the warm metallic liquid before handing it back.

  “I want you to stay close to me on this next section,” he told her as he tightened the lid of the canteen and slung it across his shoulder. “It’s very steep and very slippery.”

  Margo followed his instructions without argument. She had no wish to end up at the base of the steep precipice they followed. Out of her side vision she saw tangled limbs of oak and madrone, but the bases of the trees were hidden from sight. They were embedded hundreds of feet straight down.

  Rocks tumbled with each step. Zane moved slowly and with care, turning every few feet to make sure she was close behind. Margo appreciated his concern. Finally he stopped. She looked ahead and saw the narrow cut in the wall of loose shale.

  “This is the worst part,” he warned. “Hold my hand and take each step slow.”

  “Let’s rest a minute,” she stalled. She’d need a few minutes to build up her nerve.

  Zane slid his pack off and set it on the ledge. “Sit here. We have plenty of time.”

  Zane eased himself down beside her. She stared at the growth of brush below. A light reflected off something shiny. She grabbed Zane’s arm. “Look at that. What is it?”

  Zane’s gaze followed the line of her finger. “World War II fighter plane.”

  “What?”

  “It was flying out of Arcata – they used to simulate North Sea maneuvers because of the fog and rain. This plane crashed and the pilot was killed on impact. They never did get him out. The country was too rugged for a team to risk going down there.”

  The sight of the mangled craft sent images across her mind. Had her father’s plan looked like that? Had the pilot below felt the agony of helplessness that her father had? Not liking the train of thought, Margo stood.

  “Hey – careful now. You can’t…”

  “Zane,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to see this. Let’s leave. Now.”