The Rough Rider (36 page)

Finally, she went inside and began making biscuits. She mixed up her dough, then using a cup, pressed out the fat circles. Greasing a pan and placing the dough inside, she put them in the oven. For some time she cleaned the cabin, but then after checking the biscuits she decided to go for a walk. When she reached the pond, she saw a small bird with a huge head fly by and wondered what it was.

“Aaron will know,” she said aloud. She watched the pond, noting the silvery minnows schooling at her feet in the shallows, then saw a fish rise and thrash the surface. After a few minutes, she walked back to the cabin, checked the biscuits, and sat down to read some more.

When the biscuits were finally done, she put them on top of the stove and let the fire die down. Ten minutes later, she heard her name being called, and ran to the door. Jeb came running up, crying, “I shot three rabbits, Gail—look!”

Gail looked up at Aaron, who was smiling, then admired the limp bodies as Jeb laid them out. “Aaron says they’re
good to eat—and he’s going to let me clean them, Gail. Can we have them for dinner?”

“Fried rabbit and fresh biscuits sound good to you two?” Gail asked. When they both nodded, she said, “Good. You clean these and I’ll build up the fire.”

Aaron took Jeb to a stump and skinned and dressed one of the rabbits slowly, explaining every step. Then he grinned and said, “Now, you do the other two, then bring them inside when you’re finished.” He left the boy hacking away with more enthusiasm than skill. Stepping inside he found Gail waiting for him, her eyes filled with pleasure.

“I’ve never seen him so excited,” she said. “Did he really shoot them?”

“Sure did. He’s a good shot. I hope he doesn’t cut his finger off cleaning them, though.” He sniffed the air and said, “I smell fresh-baked bread. Let’s have some of those biscuits.”

“You’ll spoil your appetite!”

“I could eat a cow and not spoil my appetite.” He walked over to the stove, pulled the cloth from the golden biscuits, and plucked one out. Taking a bite, he closed his eyes and chewed slowly. “Well, you can cook. I guess I won’t have to hire somebody.”

Gail laughed and shoved him away from the stove. “That’s all you get! Now, tell me about it. . . .”

An hour later the three of them were sitting down to fried rabbit, gravy, and biscuits. Gail asked the blessing, and as soon as she said the amen, Jeb snatched up a piece of rabbit and bit into it. It was hot, and he sputtered, but finally nodded, “It’s
good!
”

“Well, I’ve got a partner to shoot game, and a fine cook to get it ready,” Aaron grinned. “Guess I can retire and be waited on.”

As soon as Gail cleaned the table off and washed up the dishes, she went to get her Bible. Aaron listened to her read as he cleaned the shotgun, and the words seemed to strike him with a cadence he’d never known. He’d heard the Scripture
read all his life, but somehow in this rough cabin buried in the deep woods it meant more. He felt strange stirrings and wondered what they meant.

****

The next three days were halcyon days for Jeb. He hunted and fished and ran through the woods, calling out to Aaron to name everything he was curious about. He wanted to learn the names of all the plants growing around, and the types of birds that flew overhead. He caught his first fish—only a one-pound bass—but insisted on cleaning and eating it himself. He learned the rudiments of woodcraft, a little about tracking, and each night fell into his bunk and slept like a little baby without a care.

Only once did he mention to Aaron the shadow that lay over him. They were fishing for catfish late one night, and he’d broken the silence by saying, “Aaron—”

“Yep?”

“Let’s just stay here always.”

Instantly, Aaron knew that the boy was thinking of the threat that awaited him back in New York. He said slowly, “I don’t think that would work, Jeb—though I’d kind of like it myself.”

A long silence followed, and then Jeb whispered, “I
can’t
go back! Why can’t we just hide out here?”

Carefully Aaron said, keeping his voice soft and even, “Well, I guess because God didn’t make us to hide. A man’s got something to do in this world—and a woman, too.”

“Maybe God made us to live here.” A flicker of hope was in the youthful voice, and he added quickly, “You . . . you and Gail could get married.”

“Why, I don’t think that’s the way it works, Jeb.”

“Don’t you like her?”

“I like her fine—but she has to like me.”

“She does! More than she likes anybody!”

Aaron felt he was getting out of his depth and said quickly,
“She’s interested in Dr. Burns, Jeb.” When the boy didn’t answer, he added, “A person can’t pick a wife or husband for another.”

All of a sudden, the cork in front of Jeb suddenly began skimming across the pond. Then his pole seemed to take a dive of its own as it bent low in a huge arc. A few minutes later, to Jeb’s surprise, he landed a two-pound fish. “That’s a blue channel cat,” Aaron nodded. “Best kind of catfish there is to eat.” He removed the fish from the hook, dropped it into a sack, then sat back on the bank.

Jeb sat there in silence for a long time—and Aaron thought,
I was doing so well with him, but now I’ve scared him off.
But he said nothing, and finally Jeb turned to face him, saying, “I’m . . . I’m scared to go back. What I did was a bad thing—I’ll go to jail.”

“Jeb, sometimes a fellow does wrong. When that happens, most of us want to run away from what we’ve done. But there’s no end to the running. If you run from something small, you’ll run from something else.” He let his hand fall on the boy’s thin shoulder, realizing that somehow a love for this youth had found its place in his heart. “We have to face up to bad things, Jeb. All of us.”

The two sat there for some time soaking up the silence. Finally Aaron stood, picked up the poles and their catch and said it was time to get back. As they walked up the path toward the cabin, Jeb hardly said a word. When they entered the cabin, Jeb went straight to bed. Gail caught Aaron’s eye, motioning toward the door. When they were outside, she asked, “Can we walk for a little?”

“Sure.”

They took the path back to the pond, and neither of them spoke until they reached the shore. Turning to him, Gail asked, “What’s wrong with Jeb? He’s not himself tonight.”

Aaron stood silently, then said, “He’s worried about going back to New York.”

“Did you bring it up?”

“No, he did.”

“He hasn’t said a word to me,” Gail said. “It’s as if he’s blocked all of that out of his mind.” She looked up into his face, searching his features, then asked, “What did you tell him?”

“That all of us have to face up to hard things—mistakes we’ve made.” His voice dropped as he said this, and he gave her an odd look. “Gail, I felt like the world’s worst hypocrite telling him that.”

“Why should you feel like a hypocrite? It’s true enough.”

He seemed to find it difficult to answer. She could see by the bright moonlight that he was tense. He was a strong man, she knew, and she was curious about his words.

Finally he said, “Because I’m telling Jeb to face up to his problems—his bad time—and I’ve not been able to do that myself.”

“I think you could face anything, Aaron!”

“Do you? Well, you’re mistaken.” He moved away from her and sat down on the same log that he and Jeb had sat on earlier while fishing. She came to sit beside him, saying nothing. Finally he turned to her and said unexpectedly, “A strange thing—the Bible.”

“The Bible, Aaron?” she echoed, bewildered at his words. “What’s strange about it? You’ve been reading it all your life.”

“No, I haven’t,” he shook his head sharply. “I’ve had it read
to
me—by preachers and my parents. And ever since I left home, I’ve been careful to stay away from churches and preachers.” He shook his head in wonder, and turning to face her, he said, “Somehow it gets to me when you read the Scripture. You read the same things I’ve heard my parents read—but it’s different.”

Gail was startled, and her voice was quiet as she asked, “Different in what way?”

“I can’t really say,” Aaron muttered. He shook his head and tried to put into words what he was feeling about the Bible. “When you read, it’s like the words have some kind
of echo inside me. I remember when my parents read them twenty years ago. And when I go to bed, they come to me.”

Gail understood at once that God was speaking to Aaron. She said, “The Word of God is very powerful, Aaron.”

He seemed to try her words, then turned and stared out over the still pond. For a long time the only sounds were the frogs croaking and the faint splash of some night-feeding fish. Finally he rose, and when she stood with him, he took her by the arms. “I’ve never been able to face up to Jubal’s death,” he said with an effort. “I’ve blamed myself all this time—and blamed God. And tonight when I was talking to Jeb, telling him he had to face up to things, a scripture you read once came to me. The one that says not to tell a man he’s got a speck of dust in his eye while you’ve got the whole plank in yours!”

Gail reached up and touched his cheek. It was an involuntary gesture, one she might have used with Jeb. But as she touched him, he put his arms around her and pulled her close. She opened her eyes with shock and could not speak.

“You’re so beautiful, Gail!” Aaron said softly. “I don’t know how to run my life—but I know you’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever seen. . .” He was aware of the fragrance of her hair and the touch of her hand on his cheek. He kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips. As he kissed her, he was aware that she was not pulling away. Her lips had their own pressure, and she put her hand on his neck, holding him firmly.

As for Gail, a flood of emotions rushed through her. One part of her demanded that she break away—yet something stronger came to her, so that she clung to Aaron. She welcomed his strong embrace, finding in his arms an unexpected source of joy and protection. His hands pulled her closer, and she surrendered to him, thinking,
Nothing I’ve ever experienced has been like this!
She met him and held his kiss—and then finally broke away and looked up at him, her lips parted with surprise at the power he had to stir her.

Aaron said, “Do you kiss Dr. Burns like this?”

Shame ran through Gail, and she half turned, unable to speak. She walked toward the path, but he caught her. Turning her around, he held her fast. “Answer me, Gail,” he said, an edge on his words. He had been moved by her kiss and had to know her feelings for the doctor. “Are his kisses what you want?”

Gail looked up at him, confused by the strong emotions that were still rushing through her. She shook her head, unable to explain—for she did not understand what was happening to her. Finally she whispered, “Aaron—love is more than a kiss. . ..”

Then she whirled and ran back to the cabin, leaving him alone on the shore of the pond. He stood there trying to sort out the surge of emotions he felt. Her closeness had stirred him. As he moved down the path, the great horned owl glided over the trees, silent and grim. Aaron looked up and followed the flight of the great bird, then he turned and moved to the cabin, his spirit troubled. When he entered the cabin, Gail was standing beside the canvas—and it seemed to him that that piece of canvas was a barrier of steel which he would never be able to pass through.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A Night to Be Remembered

Gail looked up quickly at Aaron when the door opened, and he entered the cabin—very much aware of the wall that had come between them since the kiss by the pond. Neither of them had spoken of it in the last few days, but the ease they’d felt between each other on first coming to the woods was now gone. Aaron had kept himself busy outside, chopping more wood or going off in the woods with Jeb. Even at mealtimes, he hardly said anything.
I wish I could tell him why I kissed him—but I don’t know myself,
she thought almost desperately.

“We can’t stay out here forever, Gail.” Aaron’s face was heavy with strain, and he avoided her gaze by going to stare out the window. “We’ve got to get word to your family—and mine.”

“I know.” Gail turned to watch him, and when he moved away from the window, she said, “I think you should go back, Aaron.”

“What about you and Jeb?”

“I . . . I can’t make him go back . . . not yet anyway.”

“You can’t hide here for long.” Aaron looked almost angry. He shook his head slowly, adding, “Sooner or later someone is going to come here. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

Gail had been expecting this, and had made up her mind. She held her head high, saying, “You’ve done so much for Jeb and me . . . but you can’t help anymore. Go back home, Aaron.”

Aaron could sense the wall between them, and now her words troubled him. He’d been confused over the effect the Bible was having on him, and then Gail’s embrace the other night by the pond had stirred something deep inside him. His mind was racing with troubled thoughts. He felt restless, and doubt seemed to fill him. “I can’t do that,” he said flatly. He turned and walked out of the cabin.

Gail stood there, watching him through the window as he walked down the path and into the woods. She felt an impulse to give in to fear.
What if he leaves us?
she thought.
But he’ll have to sooner or later. . . .

All morning Aaron kept to himself, but late that afternoon, when Aaron came into the cabin with some more wood, Jeb reminded him, “You said you’d take me out on the hills tonight, Aaron. Can we go soon?”

“I guess so.” Aaron had no desire to go, yet he wanted to escape from the confines of the cabin—and from Gail. Yet he now knew that he loved her—he had come to admit that to himself—but the knowledge that she was drawn to Dr. David Burns soured him. He said gruffly to Gail, “We may stay out all night.”

“All right.”

The brevity of her ready acquiescence angered him. He realized he was being a fool, that he was in one of those moods when nothing would satisfy him. As he left the cabin with Jeb by his side, he thought,
I’ll leave in the morning. No other way—and she’ll have to come with me, and Jeb, too.