Chapter 5 - A Conversation of Sorts
With the windows rolled up, the only sound that could be heard inside the car, besides the low hum of the motor, was the rasping of Anna’s breath. There was absolutely no other sound. At first, Anna was having trouble breathing, even trouble focusing, because of the silence. Then she began to hear her own breathing, which was troubling enough, but she could not hear a sound coming from the man beside her, not even the shallow intake or exhale of a mere breath, which also concerned her. This thought alone, along with the silence, caused her to breathe heavier.
She wondered if the man beside her could tell that she was nervous. She was certain her erratic breathing was betraying her outward appearance of self-confidence, because, on the inside, she was a bundle of nerves. The man sitting beside her was silent as a stone. She slanted her eyes in his direction; he seemed completely at ease. One hand on the steering wheel, maneuvering the curves effortlessly, sunglasses back on his face, and his other hand on the clutch: he was a paragon of ‘calm and collected’.
She had to tell herself that he had no clue that she had harbored feelings of infatuation toward him all these years. He looked just as she recalled, though older, wiser, better looking. This man was real. The memory in her mind was not. It was almost too much for her to take. She needed to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence, but all she could do was continue to breathe, and even that was difficult.
He turned toward her and gave her an easy, affable smile. Suddenly, she sensed his calmness. He seemed to send a wave of serenity toward her, which she felt just as surely as if someone had splashed her with warm water.
She knew she should ask some sort of question … How did you know I was coming? Does my family know I’m here? Do you know what you do to me? Did you know I once thought I was in love with you? But now that she felt tranquil, and her breathing had relaxed, she really didn’t want to disturb the quiet. She felt peaceful, and dare she think, happy.
She already decided that this man was unusual. For one thing, no man should be this beautiful. He almost seemed otherworldly. She wanted to ask him about himself, but no words would form. She was concentrating on the scenery whirling by her instead. Floating on a sea of uncertainty, the sensation that this man beside her was different than any man she had ever met wouldn’t go away. Questions that she knew she should ask drifted in and out of her consciousness, along with the feeling that she should feel more cautiousness, but she felt no sense of panic, no real fear. She almost felt at peace, and though the silence was slightly awkward, it wasn’t panic inducing.
Driving up the narrow mountain road, she remembered feeling this same serene feeling before, a long time ago, when she was a child. Heaven help her, the last time she felt this much at peace was right after her mother died, when she was last with him. Before that, it was when her mother was alive. Why was that? A peace engulfed her, along with happiness … happiness at her decision to come here, happiness at her decision to get into this car with this stranger, happiness to finally leave the pretense of being ‘the perfect Anna’ behind. She pushed on the button to lower the window, the smell of springtime rushing inside carried on the cool air, honeysuckle and goldenrod, as well as the sharper scent of pine, and it felt refreshing. She found that she didn’t mind the silence after all. Her head fell back to the headrest and she smiled.
Was this how things were to be from now on? Was she going to be able to relax, stop pretending to be something that she wasn’t? She had been putting on a charade, a show, a farce, since the day her mother died, and she was so very tired of it. She pretended she no longer felt anything, for so very long, that it wore her down. It was emotionally draining to act as if she didn’t have emotions. It was one constant lie. She didn’t want to lie any longer. She wanted to feel again. She closed her eyes and breathed in, listening to the air leaving her lungs, and she was happy for the silence, because it gave her the chance to ‘feel’, if that were possible.
Apparently, he wasn’t happy with the silence, because finally, after only a few moments more, he spoke. “Do you like it here so far?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been here long enough to decide. I know it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen nature at its most basic form before. This is how things are supposed to be. It’s primitive, but awe inspiring. I’ve never really been an outdoor girl, usually I stay indoors with my nose in a book, but I feel a real affinity with this place, like a longing, and yet a belonging. The few times I came here as a child, I only ever saw my father’s farm, and the top of the mountain. He never took me anywhere else.” She felt slightly embarrassed by her ramblings, so she turned in her seat and asked, “How did you know I was coming? How did you know to come pick me up?”
She was blushing, and he thought that was endearing. He thought everything about her was endearing, but a bit false. He hadn’t yet figured her out, but he would eventually. One thing was certain, she was beautiful. She looked just like her mother. Her mother was known as a very beautiful woman, and this girl looked exactly like her. He wondered how others would feel about that.
She was a beautiful, albeit an awkward child. No one was ever to know she came here when she was young. It was a highly guarded secret. Of course, being best friends with her brother Brendan, Ian was privy to this information. He remembered rescuing her twice when she was little. Once was a bit of fun, and once was a very serious matter indeed. She seemed so scared, so fragile. He remembered the second time he ‘saved her’ he thought if he touched her too roughly she might break. She was as fragile as a butterfly wing, or a petal of a flower.
He remembered that she stopped coming after that summer she turned twelve. That was the same summer that Brendan asked Ian if he could stay with him until she went home. He asked Brendan why and Brendan would only say that it was because he could no longer protect her. He didn’t understand. He didn’t like that answer. He looked over at her now. She looked like she still needed protecting, though she probably didn’t know it. Someone had to protect her, but it wasn’t going to be him.
He thought it was amusing that she would get into the car with him, no questions asked. He could sense her fear in the beginning, though she tried hard to hide it. He could always sense other people’s emotions, and though this girl tried to relay the fact that she felt ‘nothing,’ he knew that deep down, she felt more than most people, and that thought intrigued him. Sensing her apprehension and fear, he tried to send her a sense of well-being, and he knew he succeeded. It was good that he could manipulate her feelings. It might come in handy someday.
He finally answered her question and said, “You’ll find out that I know everything that goes on around here, and I probably already know everything about you.”
“What an asinine answer,” Anna retorted, rolling her eyes.
He snorted a small laugh and said, “Again, you aren’t very polite, are you?”
“Most people only pretend to be polite because they think it’s expected of them,” she regarded. “However, I’m a very polite person, usually. You, on the other hand, kidnapped my luggage, and now you won’t answer my questions. You’re the impolite one.”
He smirked. “And yet, you got in the car with me. What does that make you?”
“An idiot?” she suggested. “Fifty percent of all people who get in vehicles with people they don’t know end up missing or dead.”
He looked over at her, shocked. “What?” he asked. “Where do you get your statistics, Little One?”
She shrugged and looked back out the car window. “I’m just saying I hope I don’t become a statistic,” she responded flippantly.
“You’re already something, I’m just not sure what,” he mumbled, more to himself. “Do you always spout off unfounded facts?”
She crossed her arms over her body and then smiled. “Yes. I did just make up that statistic. It’s probably not that high. I tend to talk too much when I’m nervous. Seriously, I do remember you, but how did you know I was coming? I didn’t tell anyone.”
He suppressed another smile. “I’m a neighbor to your family, if you recall. Your brother, Brendan, and I are best friends. Apparently, your great-uncle called your father’s house to inform them that you were on your way. The problem is that none of your family’s home. Your eldest brother’s getting married this weekend in another county. That’s why I took it upon myself to collect you.” He waited a full ten seconds and then said, “Do I make you nervous?”
Anna didn’t know how to reply to that, so she didn’t say anything.
Instead, she thought about her family, and how she was imposing on them. They weren’t even home, and Alec, whom she hadn’t seen in years, was getting married, and she hadn’t known it—of course, why would she? Was it a mistake to come here without telling them first? She felt another wave of uncertainty wash over her, along with fear and dread. What if her family was only being polite when they visited her after her grandfather died? What if they didn’t really want her to come back here? What would her stepmother think?
A knot formed in her throat, a choked cry, but she had worked hard all these years to keep her tears at bay, so she turned to look out the window, swallowing her strangled sob, and asked, “Do you know when they’ll be home?”
He could feel that she was on the brink of tears, but that she was keeping them in check. He tried empathetically to send her a sense of calm again, but this time he felt her blocking it. Interesting. No one had ever been able to block him before now. Why would the news that her family wasn’t home make her want to cry? He definitely needed to get to know this girl better. He quickly answered, “No clue,” and then added, “Their housekeeper’s the one that asked me to collect you.”
“You’ve said that twice now. Collect me,” she repeated. She didn’t like how that sounded, yet it was the second time he had used that phrase. “I didn’t know they had a housekeeper. When I used to stay with them, they never had any help at the house, not even farm help, which I thought was odd, because the house and property were so large. I thought for sure they must have a cook, a housekeeper, or something, but I never saw anyone but the family when I was there. The only person I ever saw that wasn’t family was you.”
He didn’t find it odd that no one was ever around when she used to stay as a child. Her father always made sure the household staff, as well as the farm hands, were gone when she came. There was no way he could explain the reasons why to her right now.
She knew she was rambling again, but she felt nervous, and when she felt trepidation, she tended to rambling on nervously. She was on the fringe of crying, so she took another steadying breath and asked, “Is there a hotel nearby where I might stay? I can stay a night at a hotel, make a better plan, buy another train ticket, make a few of my famous lists, and then decide in the morning what I should do. Maybe I’ll stay for a few days and take in the sights.” She stopped planning things in her head when she heard him laugh.
She was still talking, and he found that endearing. Did she even know she was talking aloud … talking about staying at a hotel, buying another train ticket, and such? What a silly woman. He threw his head back and laughed. “Little One, there are no hotels around here. There are a few resorts that cater to skiers during the winter months near Millersville, but that’s back in the opposite direction. We’ll be in Glenn Briar in another twenty minutes, but there are no hotels, motels, inns, or even a Bed and Breakfast. We don’t get very many visitors. We get some passing tourist now and then, but no one stays. There’s not even a campground of any kind near Glenn Briar. Let’s see, what have I left out?”
“I get the jist,” she interjected. “There’s no place to stay, in other words, no room at the inn.” She began to wonder what she would do now. Would he turn his car around and take her back to the train station?
He looked over at her, and she was frowning. She was also twisting and pulling on the seatbelt across her chest. She was one bundle of raw nerves. “Glenn Briar is a close knit community, and it doesn’t allow outsiders,” he said enigmatically, suddenly serious.
“Fine, turn around and take me back to the train station,” she said tersely. “I don’t want to go where I’m not welcome or where I don’t belong. I shouldn’t have come, anyway.”
She had an idea he wanted to laugh again, because he was biting back a smile. “You aren’t an outsider, so today’s your lucky day. You can stay.” He winked at her, which made her frown deeper, and then he said, “In other words, you’re welcome.”
“I can’t stay if my family isn’t home,” she pouted. “I really can’t stay at their house if they aren’t there. My father’s wife wouldn’t like it.” She crossed her arms in front of her and stared back out the window. She pushed on the button of the window to open it more, so that more air rushed in toward her. The air stung her eyes, and dried the tears that threatened to spill.
He glared at her for a moment. He noticed the bracelet on her arm when she reached over to push on the button to open her window. He wondered if she knew the significance of that bracelet. He imagined that she did not.
Reaching over her to push the button that would raise the window back up, she flinched and leaned as far back against the seat as she could when his arm brushed against her folded arms, sending a tremor shooting down her spine, and goose bumps to form on her arms. He observed, “The fact that your family didn’t know you were coming didn’t keep you from coming, so don’t talk about leaving so soon. They won’t mind if you stay at their house without them, and who cares what your stepmother likes or doesn’t like. She doesn’t matter in the least. Oh, and keep the window up, you must be cold. You keep shivering.” He placed both hands back on the steering wheel. He noticed that she was influenced by his touch. That was good. That made him happier than it should have.
Anna never liked being told what to do. She also hated to be touched. Even the lightest of touches made her uncomfortable. She remembered the last time he touched her, when he comforted her under the pine trees, and carried her back into her father’s house. That might have been the last time another human being touched her, outside of her grandparents.
She looked at him quickly, suddenly wanting him to touch her again. To avoid such errant thoughts, she moved her right hand to the window button, pushed it slightly, moving the window down a fraction. “First, Mister, don’t call her my stepmother. I was never allowed to call her that, and I hardly know the woman, and what I do know, I don’t like. Second, I’m not cold, so leave the window alone. Also, I’d mind if I was them. I wouldn’t want someone in my house who wasn’t invited,” she answered quickly. “I simply can’t do that. It would be too awkward. They hardly even know me.”
“Mister? You called me ‘Mister’?” He shook his head incredulously, a chuckle escaping his mouth. “Fine, I know you. You’ll stay with me, and leave the window alone, because I said so.” He reached across her again, reached for the button on the door that would push the automatic window back into place. This time, she moved her arms up and away from his and he compensated by dipping low, brushing against her sweater above the flatness of her stomach.
She felt heat bloom in her chest and her mouth ran dry. What was this man doing to her?
“I can’t stay with you,” she barked, giving him a dirty look.
She reached back for the button with her left hand, but he grabbed that hand, pulling it away from the window. He kept it tightly in his and laid both their hands on the console between their seats. Her eyes flew up in surprise and she wrenched her hand from his. She turned her face away from his, folding her hands tightly together, and placing them on her lap.
He chose to ignore the incident, even though he knew how his touch had affected her, precisely because it had affected him in the same manner. He shrugged and said, “Then you’ll stay in your father’s house, whether or not they’re there. The housekeeper’s there and she’ll make you comfortable.” He said it, but he didn’t mean it. She couldn’t stay there alone.
She shook her head; her arms crossed on her chest. “I told you, I just can’t stay there if they aren’t there. That would be inappropriate. They might not like that. They don’t really know me that well, and they haven’t seen me for years. I guess this was a bad idea, coming without letting them know.”
“Then once again, you might be in a conundrum,” he said with a slight grin. He removed his sunglasses and looked at her closely. She was a conundrum, he decided. She was a mystery that he wanted to unravel. He thought she was pretending to be something that she wasn’t. He wanted to know all about her. He threw the glasses in the backseat and said, “Tell me a bit about yourself, Anna Gray Morgan.”
“You don’t have to call me that,” she fretted.
“Do you prefer Little Red Riding Hood?” he asked. “I like that nickname. Actually, I like what I called you a second ago, Little One. I’ll call you that. That’s what I called you the first time I met you, if you recall.”
“Call me plain, old Anna,” she suggested.
“No,” he said.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” she asked, appalled.
He shrugged again. “I don’t want to,” he said coolly. “Besides, I have a funny feeling that you’re not that girl any longer. You’re no longer plain, old Anna.”
She didn’t understand this man. He made her uncomfortable on so many levels, yet he put her at ease on many others. He was too good looking, he was constantly grinning and smiling, as if he were enjoying an inside joke. Most of the time, she sensed that he was making fun of her. She also had the undeniable urge to hit him right now, and she never wanted to hit anyone. Why did she want to hit him? She also found that she wanted to kiss him, as crazy as that seemed. He brought out emotions she had long ago buried, and she wasn’t happy about that.
How dare he assume to say that she was no longer the old Anna? Even if she felt that way, what did he know about anything?
What would he say if she told him that she buried ‘plain old Anna’ ten years ago, when she decided to stop feeling? What would he say if she told him he was also right in his assessment that ‘Anna’ was fading away, and that someone else was resurfacing, along with all her feelings, and she didn’t know why, or how, and she didn’t like it at all?
What would he say if she told him all of this? He said he wanted to know about her, but did he really?
She decided that he didn’t. He was probably only asking to be gracious. She finally said, “Fine. Call me whatever you want, although for the record, I’m not that little any longer.”
He looked at her again, just as they made a harrowing turn, and too fast. She grabbed the dashboard and bit her lip. He grinned, another wicked grin, and said, “You’re still a bit on the small side, plus something about you seems small, lost somehow, like a little girl lost, hence the name, Little One. It’s an appropriate name. I like that.”
“Call me whatever you want, but I reserve the right to do the same to you, Mister. Now, what do you want to know about me?”
“I know how old you are, so tell me, are you in school?”
“You mean college?” she asked for clarification.
He nodded.
“No.”
“Do you work?”
“No.”
“What do you do?” he asked.
“Do?” she repeated.
“With your time, for a job, for entertainment, etc, etc, etc,” he waned. “I already know you read, you don’t like the outdoors, and you visit relatives without an invitation. You like to have fresh air on you when you’re in a car; you like to pretend you don’t have feelings and emotions when you really do. So, tell me something else that I don’t know.”
How had he guessed her secret about her feelings? She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of responding on his observation, so, with a stubborn frown, she returned, “I had an invitation, and I don’t want to talk about myself.”
He pursued, “Why? If you don’t do it, who will? No one else knows anything about you, and you have to realize, everyone around here will be curious about every little thing regarding your whole life.”
That thought disturbed her. “I hope not.”
“I’m afraid so, Little One. From the moment your mother ran away, taking you with her, you became the talk of our community. Everyone’s going to be fascinated that you’ve come back. No one knew you used to visit when you were young. You’ve got to be prepared to answer a lot of questions about yourself, because people are going to want to get to know you,” he affirmed.
He could tell her more, much more, but it wasn’t his place. He could tell her that her mother took her away for a very good reason, although few knew of that reason. He could tell her that she had been in danger when she was here as a baby, that she was in more danger when she was a girl, but that at least she was far away, and that now that she had returned, she was in even greater danger still. He could tell her these things, but he wouldn’t—not yet. At this stage, she was too fragile to hear any part of the truth. He didn’t think her mother had ever told her anything about her heritage, her people, or the magic of this place.
She looked back out the window again. The thought that the people here would be curious about her scared her. She really hoped that he was exaggerating. She hoped they wouldn’t care to know her. She dearly hoped so. What was there to know? As her short conversation with him showed, she wasn’t comfortable talking about herself, nor did she have much to say. She told him so. “There’s not much to say. I’m very uninteresting, bordering on boring. Ninety percent of all people who talk about themselves are really very boring people.” She also hoped he would buy that statement.
He didn’t respond for a second, but then suggested, “I rather think you’re part of that ten percent, if your numbers are indeed accurate, which I doubt. I don’t think you see yourself clearly. Few of us rarely do. I think I see you better than you see yourself, and I’ve only just met you. I also think you’re a poor statistician, so you should stop spouting percentages that mean nothing. Tell me something about your childhood. I’m sure that was interesting. Tell me anything at all.”
She didn’t respond to his inquiries regarding her childhood. It was something she rarely thought of, and never spoke of, so they were quiet again, but this time she felt the silence thick and heavy between them. This silence wasn’t calming, so she began talking, not even aware of what she was saying. “When I was little, I used to love to lay in the grass in my back yard and stare up at the birds and butterflies. Sometimes I would imagine that I had wings, just like them, and I would soar around the rooftops, and through the clouds with them. I could stay outside for hours, just watching the birds, imagining I was one of them. It felt so real. One time, when I closed my eyes, I actually felt as if I were a monarch butterfly, flying over the rosebushes. I could smell the roses. It felt so real. I think that’s why I’ve always loved stories about fairies and birds, because I’ve always wanted to fly.”
He didn’t look at her until she said that last sentence. At that, he looked at her and said, “Of course you have.”
She looked over at him and for one very special and sacred moment, they stared into each others eyes, and she knew that he really did understand, and that thought scared her more than anything else scared her that day. Then she felt her face tinge with another blush, and she looked away. She placed a hand upon her cheek and said, “I’m sorry. You must think I’m silly, talking about flying and fairies and such. Sixty-seven percent of all men who listen to women prattle on about flying end up killing themselves.” She smiled at her little joke.
He didn’t comment. He merely smiled in return. They began to cross a very long, high bridge that closed the gap between two hillsides, and hung over a rolling river below. He slowed the car considerably as they crossed the old, rusted, iron bridge. Anna instinctively rose up to look to see how high they were. She hated bridges, especially when they were over large bodies of water. She gripped the dash in front of her as she rose in her seat to peer out the window. The water below her was dark, ominous, surging over rocks at an alarming speed, due to the snow melting on the mountain tops. She felt a lacerating, constricting pain in her chest at the sight beside and below her, and she knew that even if she closed her eyes, she would still feel the water’s presence.
Water was always a foreboding, shadowy darkness over her past, her present and her future. The fear of water gripped her with its icy hands and threatened to squeeze her heart until it burst out of her chest. Just the sight of water made her feel as if she was drowning. She opened her eyes, and saw that they had safely passed over the bridge. She looked back once, looked down, saw reeds and brush beside the bank of the river being pulled into the water’s churning depths and she almost cried out as another wave of fear reached out to her.
Her interest and fear in the river and at crossing the bridge didn’t go unnoticed by Ian. He watched her intently. He recalled that her mother died in water, and that she almost died as well. When they crossed the bridge, he stopped the car, pulling it onto the side of the road. He saw her open her eyes slowly before he volunteered, “That’s the Blackwater River. It’s pretty rapid and high this time of year.”
She nodded, clutching the seatbelt tightly across her chest with both hands. She wasn’t even looking at the water, or the bridge. She was staring intently out the front window.
He asked, “Do you want us to get out of the car to take a closer look at the river? It’s really beautiful.”
She whipped her head around to him, shocked. “NO!”
He was completely quiet for a heartbeat, and then he nodded. “I’m sorry. I understand.” He shouldn’t have suggested that, but he had to be certain of her fear. He started the engine again and drove on.
She closed her eyes. Why did he keep saying that he understood? Did he understand? She didn’t even understand. She hated water. She hated rivers, lakes, ponds, streams, creeks. She didn’t even like swimming pools. She didn’t even like baths, so she always took showers. She didn’t even know how to swim. When they took swimming in school, her grandparents had to write an excuse to get her out of it.
He spoke again, which she was thankful for, for it brought her out of her dark thoughts. “Up ahead is the town, Glenn Briar.”
“Tell me about it, please,” she asked in a sweet, soft voice. “Tell me anything. Talk to me, just keep talking.” He sensed that she needed her mind to be distanced from the river they had just traveled over.
“Sure, I’ll give you the grand tour, at least, I’ll tell you about it, though it’s a boring little place.” Ian turned onto a one way street. “The town was formed three hundred years ago, long before West Virginia was a state. It was formed by Irish immigrants, and most of the inhabitants are still related to those seven original families who came to stay.”
She smiled at him and said, “My mother used to tell me a story almost identical to that when I was a child. It’s from an old book of Irish fairytales.”
“Hmm,” he mumbled, “you don’t say.” He knew to which book she referred, and he also knew it wasn’t really a book of fairytales, as much as it was a history of their people.
He drove by a row of interconnected buildings, all different colours, some brick, some stone, some clapboards, all connected with overhanging eaves and an old stone sidewalk and he said, “The town proper consists of two main streets. This street is called Lower Twin Road and goes into town, east to west, one way, with buildings on one side, as you can see, and the river on the other.”
At the mention of the word ‘river’ Anna perked up in the seat and looked out her passenger side window. He promised, “The river is down so far on the right hand side that you can’t even see it from the road, and there is a high fence, too. There’s a path down to it, but, believe me, you can’t see it from here.” She trusted him for some reason. She turned back to face the front of the road, looking to her right with her peripheral vision. She couldn’t see the river. She could only see the hillside on the other side of the river and green trees. She sighed with relief.
He knew that he had reassured her, so he continued to drone on, which he knew she found comforting. “On the small street that connects the two streets, and which has roads that lead up to the two mountains, sits our only grocery store and our little stone post office.”
He parked the car nose first, in front of a red painted storefront that had a large wrought-iron bench in the front. He pointed out the window and added, “The road above this is called Upper Twin Road, heading west to east, one way, with the road below on one side and shops and businesses on the other side, with the mountain behind them. Oh, and we have two small churches, one Catholic and one Presbyterian, quite a few little tourist shops, a gas station, two restaurants, a coffee shop, and a bank. Not much else, but its home. Most of the people live on the outskirts of town, or up on the mountain.”
He stopped his car, and turned to face her. Ian grinned, “This concludes our tour. Fifty percent of people who take my tour leave me a tip.” He held out his hand.
She smiled and then laughed. “Thank you for the tour. I’ll leave you a large tip later, I promise.”
He reached over and moved a strand of hair from her shoulder, her heart hammered wildly against her chest. He revealed, “I hear thirty percent of all people leave a twenty percent tip or better and ten percent leave only a kiss,” he joked, making fun of her. She could only smile back at him as he continued, “But in your case, no tip is necessary. I have a feeling I’m going to get to know you better, Little One, whether you want me to or not. I also think I’ll like you. Welcome home.”
She nodded and continued to smile. She felt an instant reprieve from her former gray life just from his simple ‘welcome home’. Could it be that simple? Was she home, really home? “I have a feeling there’s not much to know about me, but still, thanks, it’s good to be home.”