Heart of the Wilderness (30 page)

Kendra faltered. “Well—I—I don’t know. I mean—I—I’ve never given it any thought. I—to tell you the truth, I’ve never thought too much about—about men at all.”

“I like that,” Reynard affirmed. “I’ve noticed that many girls your age seem to be thinking about men—or boys—all the time.”

“But Amy doesn’t—”

“Amy is too scattery to be thinking about any one thing for more than a minute at a time,” laughed Reynard. Then with deep sincerity, “And I love her—just as she is.”

Kendra nodded mutely.

“Now Carry. Carry is quite different. Already Carry does a good deal of thinking about boys.” Again Reynard chuckled.

They walked in silence for a few more steps; then Reynard said, “But you asked about banking. Banking, for me, is mostly numbers. Good numbers. Bad numbers. People who have money in the bank and people who owe money to the bank. We are there to lend money if it is needed, but the big man at the top, whoever he is, he likes to be paid back. So far we have no bad debts. Oh, some people have struggled and had to have an extension on a loan. But we haven’t had to foreclose on anyone or drive widows from their houses.” He smiled again.

“And a teller?” prompted Kendra.

“A teller is at the cash drawer. Taking in deposits for accounts and cashing notes for customers,” he explained.

“Oh,” said Kendra. It really didn’t sound complicated. “But you don’t do that anymore?”

“Not anymore.” Reynard stopped to pick up a flat stone and skip it across the small pond formed by a beaver dam in the stream.

“Ever watched beavers work?” he asked her.

“Yes,” said Kendra softly.

“Kind of neat little fellows,” Reynard remarked.

Kendra nodded. She did not say that she had not only watched them work, she had worked over them, skinning them out, stretching and tacking their hides on the forms, taking their pelts to the trading post. The thoughts racing through her mind made her shiver. Perhaps Reynard wouldn’t think much of her occupation either.

“Are you cold?” asked Reynard and slipped out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders before she could even answer.

They walked on together. It was easy to chat with Reynard. Kendra felt that she had gotten to know him quite well over the week she had spent at the Prestons. Although he was gone for work during the day, he seemed to slip so easily into the family circle at night when he returned. He always stopped to wash in fresh water at the family basin, then proceeded to the table where the family was usually waiting for him. Always he stopped on the way to his chair to bend over and press a kiss on his mother’s brow or cheek or hair with an easy, “Good evening, Mama.”

Kendra often wondered about this little ritual, but it seemed so sincere, so simple, that she couldn’t question it. If she had a mother, she would want to do the very same thing.

“Are you enjoying university?” Reynard’s question brought Kendra’s attention back to the present.

“I—I guess so,” began Kendra. Then she went on. “It hasn’t been what I had expected—to be truthful. In fact, the answers that I was really looking for—about nature, creation, my inner longings, God—I wouldn’t have even found them if I hadn’t met Amy. University really doesn’t give you the answers for all of that. There is so—so much taught about
things
. Knowledge. All for the head. Nothing for the heart.”

Reynard nodded in understanding.

“But it’s good—if one wants to be something—like a teacher—or a doctor—or . . .”

Kendra finished lamely, giving her shoulder a slight shrug.

“And you don’t plan to be any of those things?”

“No. No, I just came because I wanted to learn. I’d never been to school—except for a few horrible months. Papa Mac—Grandfather— taught me, and then when I was old enough I studied on my own. And I had all of these—these unanswered questions. Nonie—the Indian woman who took care of me—tried to answer some of them with her Indian tales. I—I think I could have believed her, but Papa Mac said they were only myths. Totally untrue.”

Kendra stopped. She still felt a sadness deep down inside. Sadness for all people who did not know or believe the truth.

“Nonie’s close,” she went on. “She really is. She just doesn’t know who God really is—or that there’s only one God—who made and controls everything.”

Reynard nodded again. “You care deeply for Nonie, don’t you?”

Kendra drew a breath. It was hard to put into words. She stood there, gazing out over the rippling pond water. Her thoughts traveled back to a very young, terrified child being held in comforting arms, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke from the bosom that cradled her. She thought of carefree days tramping through the woods, gathering herbs and roots and berries and learning how to use them.

She remembered an older Nonie, spending most of her time in her caned chair in front of her fire. But always, always when Kendra opened her door and called a greeting, the tired eyes lit up and a smile carved itself on the wrinkled face.

“Yes,” she answered with a great deal of feeling. “Yes—I love Nonie. She—and Papa Mac have been all the family I’ve known.”

“Do you—do you ever feel cheated—about the way you were raised?” asked Reynard.

Kendra turned to face him fully. The last light of twilight mixed with the first soft rays of the rising moon to caress cheeks and hair with a soft halo. Her green eyes deepened, sparkling with the intensity of her feelings. “Oh no,” she said with sincere fervor. “I feel singularly blessed.”

“Reynard is coming to the city.”

Amy greeted Kendra with the news as soon as they joined together for their walk to class.

Kendra’s eyes lifted. She couldn’t explain the sudden little flutter she felt inside.

“What for?” She managed the simple question without her voice giving her away.

“He’s on some bank business—a training session or something.”

“When?” asked Kendra, her eyes focused on where she placed each step.

“He comes next Monday and stays until Friday,” replied Amy. “Aunt Sophie is afraid he’ll be terribly bored in the evenings with no farm chores to do, but I assured her that he’ll likely be able to think of something.”

Kendra looked at her friend. Amy was about to burst into a giggle. Kendra felt her face flush. Surely Amy wasn’t implying that Reynard would be interested in spending some time with her. But she knew by Amy’s face that she was indeed making such an inference. Kendra’s flush deepened.

At the rap on the door, Kendra shifted in her seat at the bookstrewn table. Mrs. Miller rose to answer the summons, casting a curious look Kendra’s way. They did not often have visitors.

“Good evening,” Kendra heard a deep, even voice say. “Is Miss Marty in, please?”

“And who shall I say is calling?” Mrs. Miller was asking, but Kendra was already crossing toward the door.

“Reynard?” she said.

“You weren’t expecting me?”

“Well, I—I—”

“I should have written, but I didn’t have your address. I wrote Amy. She was supposed to tell you.”

“Well—she did—I mean she said you were coming to the city. She said . . .” Kendra faltered to a stop and held the door open.

“I do hope I’m not imposing—”

“Oh no. No, not at all. Come in. This is—I’d like you to meet Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller, Amy’s brother Reynard. Reynard Preston.”

Mrs. Miller smiled warmly and chatted easily for a few minutes, then turned and went back to the kitchen, leaving the two in the living room.

“I see you are studying,” said Reynard, motioning toward the books on the table. “I’m afraid—”

“Oh no,” quickly replied Kendra. “I’ve finished what needs to be done. I always work ahead.”

“I thought—I wondered if you might like to go for a cup of coffee in that little shop up by Aunt Sophie’s?”

Kendra smiled. She had never been in the little coffee shop and had always secretly longed to join the university crowd who sometimes gathered there, just to see what it was like.

“I’ll get my shawl,” she said with no hesitation.

They managed to spend much of the evening together each night of the week Reynard was in town. Kendra cautioned her heart over and over not to become involved, but she wasn’t sure that it was paying much attention to her words.

On the last night before Reynard was to go home, they walked the river trail together. When they came to a bench, Reynard brushed it off and offered Kendra a seat.

“I’ve been hoping you’ll be able to come out to the farm with Amy again. Guess it’s getting too close to the end of the term now, but you could come as soon as classes are over.”

He reached down and took her hand and Kendra did not resist.

“I’d—I’d like to,” she managed, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Maybe we could even find a job for you—in town. The—”

“In town? A job?”

“Just for the summer. I know that when classes start again you’ll—”

“I’m not coming back,” said Kendra softly.

He looked surprised. Then his eyes began to shine.

“Well—if you’re planning to get a job here,” he said, “it might better be there. Then you’ll be near—all the time.”

Kendra lowered her gaze. “I’m not—not planning on a job—here either,” she said.

He reached out and lifted her chin so he could look directly into her eyes. “What are you planning?” he asked seriously.

“I’m—I’m going back. Home. To my grandfather. He—he needs me. I never should have left him in the first place.”

Kendra tried to pull away from the hand that held her prisoner so that she could turn her face from him. She didn’t want to see the look that had flooded into his eyes. His fingers tightened around the hand he held.

“Do you have to?” he asked.

Kendra turned to him again and nodded slowly. “I have to,” she replied, her voice deep with emotion. “I have to. He needs me. Nonie needs me. I have to—to tell them—about God. That I’ve found the answer.”

His voice brightened. “Then you’ll be back?”

Kendra looked up at him, then lowered her gaze. She shook her head slowly. “No. No, I’ll not be back. Papa Mac needs me.”

Silence hung heavily about them. Kendra felt chilled—isolated.

“Could—might we write?” asked Reynard, his voice husky with emotion.

Kendra raised her eyes to his. She shook her head slowly.

“I—I don’t think it would be—wise,” she managed in little more than a whisper as she pulled her hand out of his. “It—would only make it—harder.”