Behind the Mask (20 page)

Seeing Cameron interact with the dogs left her aching to be with Blaze. But the snow was deep, and she knew that even attempting to get to the stable with a splint and a crutch would be ludicrous. Though Cameron assured her the animal was fine, she longed for Blaze’s company when there was no one else to talk to. At least Blaze listened and understood her. However, the snow left a barrier between them just as it had with everything else in her life. Abbi had never even imagined snow so deep. As new snow fell, she realized that Cameron was shoveling it away from the windows—to keep them from breaking, he told her when she asked. And those few words were apparently his maximum quota for an average day. Gradually she became accustomed to his silence, and she did her best to ignore the rude intonations in his voice when he
did
speak. Rather than taking it personally, she only wondered what made him so bitter, and what she might do to reach a deeper part of him.

Gaining more agility with her crutch, Abbi began to move around the house more freely and occupied herself by cooking and doing menial household chores. Cameron objected the first time she set to work in the kitchen without his permission, but she insisted it was woman’s work.

“Who do you think’s been doing it for the past three years?” he demanded.

“I’m here now,” she replied firmly, “and I intend to work. We’ll take turns. I may not be very good at it, but I can manage.”

Cameron only grunted and went to the book cupboard before plopping himself onto the sofa to read. She noticed then that he wore glasses to read. As she started doing more around the house, he began reading more to occupy his time, and seeing him in his glasses became common. Abbi was intrigued with the way he looked in them, and she often watched him from a distance when he was absorbed in a book. She had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that she was impressed with this man, in spite of his bouts of anger and his brusque manner. She liked the way he walked, his mannerisms and manner, as well as the way he dressed. At times she would look at him and find it hard to believe this was the same man who had saved her life with his warmth. Whenever such thoughts caught Abbi, she felt an exhilaration that she could never explain. She couldn’t deny that she felt something for Cameron, though she found it difficult to define. Her emotion didn’t compare to what she’d felt for Nikolaus, or even Lance. It was wholly new and thoroughly consuming, puzzling her as much as Cameron himself. She often wondered what had happened specifically that kept him hidden in this mountain retreat, and why she had been led here by such bizarre methods. It made no sense to her, but then she felt certain that when Joseph of Egypt was languishing in prison, his dreams certainly would have made no sense to him. She wondered if Joseph’s cell mates had been infuriatingly rude.

Cameron was surprised one morning when Abbi didn’t appear for breakfast, especially since it was her turn to cook. Hunger motivated him to cook it himself, certain she’d just overslept and she’d show up soon enough. But he finished eating and had still heard no sign of her. He hurried up the stairs to check on her, realizing he’d not been in the room for many days. He knocked at the partially opened door and heard her make an indiscernible noise.

“Abbi, you overslept. Breakfast is getting cold.”

“I’m not sleeping,” she replied in a tone that caught his attention and left him concerned.

Moving closer, he asked, “Are you ill?”

“Yes . . . I mean . . . no. I’ll be fine. I just don’t feel like getting out of bed.”

“You look pale,” he said and touched her face to check for fever. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted.

“If it were nothing, you would have come down to breakfast.”

Abbi glared at him, wondering how he managed to make everything so thoroughly difficult. Why, of all days, couldn’t he just ignore her today?

“It’s not catching. And it will pass. Now just let me rest.”

“You should eat something.”

“Yes, I probably should, but I’m . . .” Abbi stopped herself. She had no desire to discuss her monthly cramps with this man she had been forced to live with.

Cameron turned away and sighed, wondering why she couldn’t just answer a simple question without creating an ordeal. Then he noticed the clean, wet rags hanging over the side of the tub to dry. And he understood.

“You know, Abbi,” he said, “if you’re having feminine difficulties, all you have to do is say so.”

Fighting her embarrassment, Abbi lifted her head to glare at him, wishing she had the energy to bodily remove him from the room. “I have never discussed my
feminine difficulties
with a man in my entire life, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“That might be difficult, Abbi girl, since there is no one else here to discuss them with.”

He left the room and Abbi growled toward the door, longing for her own bed at home and Elsa’s help and comfort. Cameron returned a few minutes later with a tray of food that he’d reheated. “Sit up and eat this,” he ordered. “You need your strength.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a skeptical glance as she carefully leaned against the headboard.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said. “I’m a grown man who once had a wife.”

Abbi said nothing. She’d never contemplated the possibility that men were even made aware of such things. But it only took her a moment to realize that it was unlikely a married man
wouldn’t
know.

“Do you have what you need?” he asked with an intensity that almost dared her to lie to him.

“Gwendolyn left me well supplied, thank you.”

“Anything else? Clean water, perhaps?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Cameron stoked up the fire before he left, coming back a short while later with two buckets of warm water. He took the food tray, commenting with mock chagrin, “Good appetite.”

Abbi felt alarmed as a thought occurred to her. “Good heavens,” she said, “do you have enough food for both of us to get through the winter? I didn’t even think that—”

“Yes, Abbi,” he said with a chuckle as he was leaving the room, “there’s plenty of food.”

After Abbi freshened up, she curled into the bed and would have drifted off to sleep if not for the continued cramping. But at least she felt secure and cared for. She contemplated the goodness in Cameron that couldn’t help but show itself when the need arose. A moment later he appeared again, holding something that was wrapped in a heavy towel. She was startled when he lifted the bedding enough to slide it between the sheets, then she felt its warmth and gravitated toward it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A hot brick. Gwen always said it helped.” He turned to stoke the fire once more, and Abbi was barely aware of him leaving the room before she drifted off to sleep.

Cameron hurried to finish his chores, and then he returned to Abbi’s room to see if she was hungry again. He found her sleeping soundly and couldn’t resist the urge to sit in the chair near the bed and watch her. He doubted that he had ever witnessed anything so beautiful in his life. If he had, surely he would remember. He wondered if she could possibly be the means to answer his prayers. But then, it was difficult to tell when he didn’t even know exactly what to pray for. At the beginning of his banishment he had prayed for freedom, for the means to prove his innocence. But he’d given that up a long time ago. He’d felt walls close in around him, and he’d become so comfortable in them that a part of him was just plain scared to even consider going back to the real world. What good would it do him if he did? What good would it do anyone else? Yet, even being resigned to his circumstances, he’d not been able to accept being alone. Hadn’t he prayed for something to ease his loneliness?

Is she the answer to my prayers?
He asked the question in his mind as if he expected it to be answered. Then, in his first conscious effort to pray in a very long time, he muttered in a whisper, “If she is, please don’t let me be fool enough to ruin any chance I might have for redemption.”

Cameron sighed and leaned his head against the high back of the chair. He wanted to touch her but feared she would awaken. Then he caught sight of something peeking out from beneath her pillow. It was the book he’d given her, the one she’d spent endless hours sketching in. How could he not be curious?

Holding his breath, Cameron took the exposed corner and slid it carefully from beneath the pillow. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and he sighed in relief that he’d succeeded without disturbing her. He took his glasses from where they were tucked between the buttons of his shirt and put them on. He opened the book to see first a drawing of the view from the upstairs window. The next two pages were different angles on the bedroom, showing in detail the fireplace, the furnishings, the log walls and beamed ceiling. He turned another page to find a horse running, and then a forest scene. The next drawing took Cameron off guard. It was his own face. He recalled Abbi sketching him as he’d sat in the window, but this was different. He wondered if he truly looked so grave and unlikable, and decided that he probably did. The thought disturbed him.

On the next page Cameron found the picture of himself in the window seat. There was a serenity to this drawing that intrigued him. He recalled feeling serene at the time, at least for a few minutes. He was amazed at her ability to capture details, in an abstract kind of way. But more so, he admired the way she had captured a mood that he hadn’t even realized he’d been feeling until he looked at the drawing.

Flipping through the pages, Cameron found several other drawings, mostly scenery; some that he recognized. The only drawing that puzzled him was stuck in the middle of the others, completely out of place. It was a man wearing something strange around his neck, and an even stranger headdress. He suspected it was meant to look Egyptian, although he knew little of such things. But the expression of the man was firm and confident; heroic, in a word. He held the book farther from his face, tipping his head to examine it from a different angle. It was fascinating, especially as he speculated over her reasons for drawing such a thing. Had she traveled abroad? Did she know someone who had?

“Is my work really so bad?” she asked, startling him.

Cameron turned to look at her, expecting her to be angry to find him looking at this without her permission. But she only seemed curious over his interest. “No, actually,” he said. “They’re really quite good. I’m just a little . . . puzzled by this one.” He turned the book to show her.

“That’s Joseph,” she said as if it should have been obvious.

“Joseph?”

“Joseph of Egypt,” she clarified.

“I can see he’s Egyptian, but . . . I still don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“No, he’s not Egyptian, actually.”

“But you called him Joseph of Egypt.”

“Well, that is how I imagined him to look when he became the governor of all Egypt.”

“But he’s not Egyptian,” Cameron said skeptically, wondering if she’d made this up.

“No, he was from the land of Canaan. You know, Joseph . . . and his coat of many colors.”

“Am I supposed to know this story?” he asked.

“It’s in the Bible, Cameron. Didn’t you go to church?”

“Yes, actually. I did my best to listen to the sermons, but I don’t recall hearing this story. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I never went to church. But I think when I return home, I’m going to start.”

“So, how did you become so well versed in Bible stories?”

“Oh, just this story,” she said. “A friend of mine told me to read it when he realized I had the gift of dreams.” Cameron looked interested so Abbi continued. “You see, Joseph had the gift of dreams.”

“Ah,” Cameron said, “so I take it this Joseph is a hero of yours.”

“Something like that.”

“How did he come to be the governor of Egypt?”

“Joseph had eleven brothers. Many of them had done things to earn their father’s displeasure, while Joseph had proven himself honorable. Joseph was also the oldest son of Rachel, the woman Jacob loved most. So, Jacob gave Joseph a coat of many colors, and his brothers were terribly jealous. And then Joseph had some dreams that symbolized his brothers bowing down to worship him. This made his brothers even more angry. One day while they were away from home tending the sheep, they took Joseph’s coat away and threw him into a pit.”

“That’s horrible,” Cameron said, feeling more uncomfortable with this story than he dared admit—even to himself. He knew that thrown-into-a-pit feeling, but memories of prison made him shudder.

“Oh, it gets worse. They were going to kill him, but instead they sold him as a slave to some traders. Can you even imagine?” she asked. “How horrible that must have been, to be sold into bondage by his own brothers?”

“Go on,” Cameron said.

“He was taken to Egypt and bought by a very important man named Potiphar, who quickly took a liking to Joseph. Because Joseph was a righteous man and trusted in God, he was blessed so that everything he touched flourished. Potiphar could see that he was special, so he made him the leader of his household. But Potiphar’s wife was a wicked woman who tried to seduce Joseph. When he refused her she became angry and accused him of . . . well, you know.”