It Was 2052, High Haven (20 page)

“
Some---maybe. Not really, I
think. Bubba is a good man, he just gets a little over excited, jumps
before he thinks sometimes. He loves me, you know?”

Cole reached out, his fingers found
the curly head, “He definitely does. Who wouldn't?”

Rustling sounds came from behind them,
Bubba turned in his sleep, “Better get back to bed.” She
took the hand from her head, gave it a light kiss, “Night,
Cole.”

“
Night, girl.”

The painter had spent his life in the
high elevations, he was familiar with the harsh winters. Perhaps it
was the injury, still getting over it; maybe he was getting older,
the cold seemed extreme this year. He cut the fingers out of gloves
as he had done many times before, so he could feel and grasp his
brushes. His fingers felt frozen,
hell, the paint won't even
blend and spread the way I want it to.

Lindsey sat bundled up in front of the
old wood burning stove they had salvaged from the ruins of Secret.
She and Bubba had pulled it on skids all the way to their site.
Cole felt guilty for not encouraging the two to leave the mountain
and go on home when the others left. He knew that a lot of his
restless dissatisfaction with the weather and their situation was
because he really dreaded the idea that they would be leaving when
the weather permitted. Having them and the other friends come walking
into his world had made him realize,
there's a whole world out
there, I've only been living in a small corner.
He put his paints
away, just didn't feel motivated right now.

He stepped outside the shelter, his
boots crunched across the white that covered everything. The sun did
feel good and he walked around the crystal coated water's edge toward
his aunt's place. The residents had helped her build an extra large
shelter. She lived there but there was also a long wooden table and
benches down one side and she, with her cook prepared food everyday.
With the willing support of the refugees, the Secret Cafe still
survived.

“
Hey, boy,” the aunt's
hand waved from the stove in the back of the room. “Sit---I'll
be there in a minute.” He slid onto the bench, joined several
of the other citizens. Plopping down bowls and spoons in front of
the waiting diners, she made her way to Cole, squeezed in beside him.
The cook came over with a large deep pot and dipped steaming liquid
into the bowls.

“
Squirrel dumplings, huh?”
said Cole. He knew it was one of his aunt's favorites to cook and
the hunters always kept her well supplied with the meat. Not his
favorite, but it was hot.

“
Yep, never tire of it,”
she smiled and picked up his half gloved hand, “Too cold to
paint?”

“
Well, I...” The sheriff
with the mayor right behind him came in and interrupted his answer.
The mayor looked haggard. “Surely, that old idiot isn't digging
around in the snow for the mine,” he said in his aunt's ear.
She got up to get bowls for the late comers and just clucked her
tongue at him.

“
Hey Cole, how you feeling these
days?” said Sheriff Henry.

“
I'm well, thanks for asking,”
he said.

The diners came and went, including
the sheriff and mayor. When the traffic slowed his aunt came and sat
by him again. “Now, you were telling me why you aren't
painting.”

“
I don't know, not in the mood.
Cold seems to be bothering me more than usual.”

The aunt laughed, “You're always
in the mood to paint and the cold has never bothered you before.”

“
True.”

“
I think you're missing Cissy
and Taylor. Maybe your other friends will decide to stay here. We're
going to rebuild our town, you know.”

“
Oh, I've no doubt of that,”
said Cole. “Why would those two want to stay here? Bubba has
family, friends---a home to go back to. And, Lindsey seems to be
happy to be where he is.”

The sheriff came back into the shelter
that was decently warm from the cooking, “Could you spare a cup
of that hot tea?” He sat across from Cole at the long table.

“
Where's
mayor crazy---
he's
probably going to get himself killed, greedy ole-som-bitch,”
grumbled Cole.

“
Why do you say that?”

“
You know he's still searching
for the mine. Why? Who cares. Is the gold important to rebuilding
the town. I don't get it.”

“
The gold did get us lots of
things that we couldn't provide ourselves over the years, it still
has great trade value. The mayor? Well, he was alive before the
catastrophic event, a time when wealth was measured by possessions
and money. It's not something that you experienced, you wouldn't
understand,” said the sheriff.

“
I definitely don't understand
it,” said Cole.

On another frigid day, the mayor
slogged around the area of the mountain where he was certain that the
mine still lay buried. When something tangled in the wide mesh of
his snowshoe, he fell face first into the snow. With a spew of
expletives, he turned to readjust the shoe and saw what had grabbed
him. What at first appeared to be a branch, was instead a grotesque
hand, some remnants of skin still frozen on the bony fingers,
protruding through the frozen white.

“
S –t!” he stood
and kicked at the hand. He had found the partner that escaped from
the cave, the man hadn't made it off the mountain. Mumbling to
himself, “The newcomers were probably telling the truth---means
the bear and cubs are hibernating in the cave mine. I won't come back
until spring thaw and when I find the mine again, I damn sure will
remember that.” The mayor was greedy, obsessed but some bit of
sense had finally crept in.

The same day, Cole with Bubba and
Lindsey had trekked back to the town ruins to see what they might
salvage. The day was cloudy and no sun warmed them. Lindsey stopped
often and complained that she didn't feel well. They finally made it
back to the remains of the town. In a cellar below what was once the
cafe, they found a few stores and loaded them onto a sled they had
dragged along.

One partial wall and pieces of roof
still stood, the snow hadn't piled up here in the corner, instead
debris and ashes heaped. Cole found a stick to dig around in the
garbage, overturned a small piece of painted canvas, evidence of the
loss of several of his paintings. Then he saw the golden glint and
uncovered a glob of gold. Some more digging found a shiny tidbit
here and there. He gathered the miniscule nuggets into the pocket of
his heavy coat. Joking about not being interested unless he could
paint with it, he had since thought about the possibility of melting
or grinding the soft ore and doing just that.

They added some sooty forks and spoons
and a couple of plates that hadn't been broken to the sled. He
looked over at Lindsey, she seemed pale, “Are you okay, girl?”

“
Not really so great,” she
said.

Bubba came and put his arm around her
waist, “Let's put you on the sled and head back,” he
kissed her cheek.

“
I agree,” said Cole and
began to make a place for Lindsey on the sled.

For the next week, some days, the
young woman seemed to be feeling pretty good. Sitting near the fire,
a small surface in her lap, she would boldly swish her brush around,
creating her flamboyant paintings. Other days, she slept a lot of
the day, huddled under piles of covers. Cole was concerned for her
and Bubba was absolutely stricken with worry.

Not much change in her condition, so
Cole asked the doctor to come and have a look at her. The doctor and
his nurse exited the shelter that the three friends shared, he placed
his hand on Bubba's shoulder and his expression was serious, “Well
son, how do you feel about being a father?” The nurse was
smiling now and Bubba was speechless, a rare state for him.

“
Oh, my god,” said Cole
with a chuckle. “How stupid are we---why didn't we think of
that?” He was so relieved that Lindsey wasn't ill. When the
expectant father snapped to and grabbed him in a hug, he felt awkward
and just patted his back, “Congratulations.”

Inside, the happy couple laughed and
cried. Outside, Cole found a new worry and also some new selfish
thoughts. A pregnancy and a baby being born in this remote and harsh
environment, that was troubling. Then a brief self serving thought,
surely, a woman that just gave birth and a new baby couldn't
travel down the mountain in the Spring.

The winter months brought the bitter
conditions that the refugees and Pastor Poe had prayed wouldn't
occur. Day after day, it was impossible to do anything other than
hide away in shelters and stay warm, at least as warm as the
temporary structures could provide. After the initial morning
sickness faded, Lindsey was her usual feisty and optimistic self. Her
girth expanded and the whole community, restless and bored with their
forced confinement watched her progress.

Cole's paintings had changed from the
rich landscapes to depictions of the surviving people of Secret.
Always, somewhere in the portraits and illustrations, was a touch of
real gold. A hair ornament, a ring or piece of jewelry, a gold tooth
in the interesting painting of the sheriff, or just a glimmer of
shine on a lantern in the background. Motivated at the new direction
of his creativity and like the rest of the community, awaiting the
arrival of the new baby, he was up early and painted all day.

“
Lindsey, look at me, would
you?” The pregnant woman sat in a chair in front of the fire,
her blanket covered belly pushed out from her small form, booted feet
crossed on the floor. The wild auburn curls that she had impulsively
chopped off very close to her head mirrored the flames from the open
stove. Struggling with stitches on a square of soft material, a baby
blanket, she looked up with an aggravated look.

“
Damn it, Cole---I'm busy. You
know what I look like.”

He paused the busy brush for a moment,
looked toward a stack of soft infant wraps on the end of the bed,
“Come on girl, give me a smile. That baby is going to be
bundled up like a eskimo.” All the women of the community had
been happily passing their time by making small clothing and
blankets. She had to laugh at that and Cole snapped a mental picture
of the smile, hoping to duplicate the charming countenance in his
painting.

On the early summer day that Lindsey's
little son was born, the high haven lake shimmered with sunlight and
the snow remained only in dirty looking patches. Lindsey was a small
woman and it was a long difficult day of labor. She stoically handled
it and Bubba, Cole right in his footsteps covered miles in their
pacing. Early in the evening, the plump boy came into the world. The
community celebrated the good health of mother and son. The artist
began his painting of the new family, Bubba, Lindsey and little
Coleby.

The summer was creeping in now, the
pregnancy had delayed the couple's leaving for a while but Cole had
no doubt they would soon be on their way down the mountain. The young
mother was tough and his namesake had been born healthy.

The portraits and
visual
stories
of the daily lives and
people of the encampment already stacked and lined the walls, though
many had been passed along to the subjects. Bubba looked over the
artist's shoulder at the painting of his
new
family, it was getting very near to completion, “
Man,
that is so great.” He looked around at the other pictures,
“You've really got this knack for capturing the heart of
people. This is your real talent---all of this work is
fantastic
.”

“
I think he's right,” said
Lindsey as she walked around in the small space, bouncing the new
child in her arms. Freed from the heavy coats and blankets of the
previous months, she
went
to the open door and breathed in the crisp air.
Moving
back to the rocker that one of the townsfolk had brought her, her
back to them, she nursed the baby and cooed to him, “It's
beautiful—-isn't it, Coleby? We love Uncle's Cole's painting
of us, don't we.”

Bubba said, “You're going to let
us take it home, aren't you? I'm not sure how we'll get it down the
mountain, I'll figure something out though.”

Cole looked at the three of them and
at the painting he had created with love. He didn't answer his
friend, just dabbed
paint in
the corner of the picture, not wanting to feel the sadness that stung
his heart.

***

Kevin climbed around in the tall
rafters of the frame of the house. The rough cut structure was
slowly taking shape, it would be a home for her brother, Suzanne and
Suzanne's mother. Cissy handed Taylor a drink from a bucket of cool
water, “Will it ever be our turn?” she asked.

He bent and kissed her, “Soon.
I think we'll have this place to a point that we can start on our
house, maybe in a month or less.”

She was aware that the whole community
had pulled together to help rebuild the homes lost to the wildfire.
Forming small crews, everyone that was able worked everyday on
someone's house. Following the custom of the community, Kevin and
Suzanne had already made their commitment to each other, in the
presence of friends and family. A public affirmation of their love
and loyalty. So, the family's resources and energy had been poured
into getting their new home livable. It would be easier when Kevin,
his wife and mother-in-law moved out of the house. In reality, she
and Taylor could commit and begin to live as man and wife in her
family home. As much as she longed to be with him, she was holding
out for them to have their own place and start their life together.
There were many moments when she wondered how much longer she could
wait for that day.