WWIV - Basin of Secrets (8 page)

Steven seemed moody again this morning. No matter what she tried lately, his somber attitude remained like low dark clouds on a rainy day. Once in a while he smiled, usually at something Rosie said or did, but nothing Cara did improved his spirits.

Just outside of the main gate, she turned and carefully eyed the camp that had been her home for the past 10 years. So much had changed. When she and Steven had first arrived, only six small cabins dotted the unfenced area. At that time, it had only been two years since all hope suddenly disappeared one August morning.
 

Now a five-foot wall of wood enclosed the camp. One large opening served as the main gate, which was guarded at night; two smaller openings allowed residents to come and go during the daytime. At night, each of those passages were stacked with large logs, preventing anyone from leaving – more importantly, anyone entering unannounced.

Where the six small cabins once stood, 14 larger units now served as homes for the camp’s families. Many trips to nearby Heber City helped secure supplies for the new dwellings. The entire rebuilding process took two full years. By the time the group had finished, they had a safe, clean enclosure to call home, home now to 13 families.

Three rows and four columns of 500-square foot cabins made up Camp Nine. Two additional smaller units sat independent of the group on each end of the middle row – Steven’s idea. Originally, the plan called for 12, but her husband noticed they had several single men without families taking up larger spots. Thus, in the fourth year of existence, the camp added the two smaller units on each end. This arrangement pleased everyone, including the single men.

Walking along the outside of the fence, Cara noticed several spots that could stand repair. Instead of laying a number of logs on top of one another horizontally, they chose to have their fence made up of individual logs, standing vertically. Each log was placed in a hole approximately two feet deep for a solid foundation. But the few past winters and torrential spring rains that always followed took a toll on a number of pine posts. Walking the perimeter, she noticed five or six that were rotting on the bottom. She made a mental note to speak with Darrell Johnson about the situation; he was the one in charge of maintenance issues in this location.

Outside the walls of the camp lay seven enclosed gardens used to produce food for the group. Two sat on either side of the main gate, with two on each narrow end of the camp. Behind the enclosure lay three more gardens: four, five and six. These were her destination this morning.
 

“Mrs. Wake?” called a voice from the far end near garden four. Cara peeked ahead and saw a friendly hand waving at her. After returning the greeting, Cara and the women met in the middle, just outside of garden five.

“Good morning, Sheila.” Cara recognized the women as one of the newer residents.

“Thank you for remembering me,” she replied. “Sheila Bosworth. And my husband is Harland.” Cara nodded, remembering meeting them on their second day there.

“And your twins, Brian and Barney, correct?” Cara asked.

Sheila smiled. “Yes. That’s so kind of you to know our names already, as busy as they keep you around here.”

“Well, I see you’re out working hard already,” Cara observed. “I haven’t seen but two or three others up and moving yet today.”

“Just want to earn our keep and show our appreciation for being allowed in, Mrs. Wake.” Sheila smiled, showing Cara her joy that she and her family were allowed in to Camp Nine.

“Please, call me Cara. Everyone does, and you should, too.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions…Cara?” Sheila appeared to be 10 years older than Cara, maybe more. Though her boys were about the same age as her Joshua, she knew the Bosworths must have waited to have their children.

“Of course not,” Cara replied, taking a seat on one of the many tree stumps that dotted the backside of the camp. “We’re all family here. It’s hard to keep secrets with everyone living so close together.”

Sheila straightened her plain brown woolen skirt and looked over at Cara. “So,” she began. “How long have you been here at Camp Nine?”

Cara grinned at the easy question. She had feared it would be a talk about politics or religion. “Ten years this fall.”

“Oh, so much has changed since then I would imagine.”

Cara sighed. “A lot actually. Many people have come and gone in 10 years. Some leaving because they wanted something different. Others, well…” Her expression becoming pained. “…others have died.”

Sheila reached for the smaller woman’s hands. “And you’ve lost someone I hear?”

Cara nodded thoughtfully without looking up. “My youngest boy, Jacob. He was six. It was our second winter here.” Her sad eyes found Sheila’s, sympathetically waiting. “Steven said he thought it was some type of rheumatic fever. But there were no doctors around back then. Now we share one with Camp Eight.”

“And Steven,” Sheila picked up on the thought, “he’s your father perhaps?”
 

Cara hated this question from all new residents. It should be obvious, but every last one of them had to ask. Firming her resolve, she sat up proudly. “Steven is my husband. My second husband. He came to me and the boys back in Salt Lake more than 10 years ago, just days after my first husband died.”
 

Sheila’s face fell hearing the oft-repeated tale of death and pain. “It’s just…”
 

Cara watched as Sheila began to dance around the delicate subject.
 

“Well, he’s so much older than you.”

Cara looked away thoughtfully. “Steven is 21 years my senior, and that is a fact. But he loves me, and I love him. And together, we created a new life with my little Rose.” Returning a determined stare to the now silent woman, Cara continued. “We are husband and wife. And we have been for the past six years. I will never have another man after Steven. Because he’s that good to me, to my family, to
our
family.”

Sheila blushed, shaking her head several times. “I hope you don’t think I was questioning your family.” She searched for words quickly as she stuttered ahead with the conversation. “I was just wondering about your relationship with him, that’s all.”

Cara smiled. “No offense taken. But we really do need to assemble some help now so we can get at this harvest.” Both women rose and inspected the garden plot behind them.

“You certainly are a good leader here, Cara. I just want you to know that. My family and I could see that from the start. Everyone here respects you. That says a lot about a person.”

Opening the gate to garden five, Cara signaled for Sheila to join her. “Thank you for your kind words. Sometimes I wonder what good I am, though.” She stopped and took in the sight of row after row of brilliant red tomatoes, ready for harvest. “Lately, I’ve been feeling better about everything.” One last shy grin, and Cara bent to pluck the red ripened fruit. Taking a small bite, her eyes flashed pleasure, like she had tasted the perfect food for the first time. “But, we all know good feelings are subject to change. And quickly.” Admiring the abundant supply, she held the tomato out for Sheila to sample. “Most likely not today, though.”

The pile of cut wood satisfied the group. Standing six feet tall, four feet in width and almost 50 feet long, the pile was massive by anyone’s standards. Steven moved around the group, slapping backs and congratulating the members of his team.
 

“Now,” he started as everyone focused their attention his direction. “We need to get all this wood back to camp.” He studied the pile more carefully. “Any bright ideas?”

A short, thin man stepped forward – Pauly, as everyone in camp knew him. “Why drag it all back to camp now? We can just come and get it as we need to this fall and winter, right?” Several members nodded in agreement with his wisdom.
 

“One problem there, Pauly,” Steven replied, pointing back to the southwest. “Camp is about a mile that direction. Little harder to haul wood through waist deep snow, much less a mile.”

Pauly tossed his gloves to the ground. “Well why’d we come out all this way to cut wood then? There’s plenty of trees right by camp.”

Steven smiled at his ignorance. All these years in the woods and so many still had much to learn. “There isn’t a dead or downed tree anywhere near camp. This blow down is the closest. Ten years of doing this has landed us right in this spot.” Several heads nodded, but other faces were uncertain as to his meaning.
 

“Well,” another man joined in. “Why don’t we cut down the standing stuff by camp? That would make more sense, wouldn’t it?” Again, the same people who agreed with Pauly agreed with the new speaker. Steven sighed.

“Green wood takes longer to dry. And cutting would be twice as hard. It would take two months or more to cut and stack what it took us four weeks out here to do. And then…” Steven grinned at one of his allies, “then we’d have to let it sit for two years before it would burn properly.” Again, the same dense people saw the light. Steven winked at his crew chief. “George, you got any ideas for getting this much wood back to camp?”
 

Scratching his head through a threadbare black stocking cap, George stared thoughtfully at the wood, then the horizon, and then back at the wood. Finally, he nodded. Perhaps there was a plan.

“I say we get the wagon and load as much as we can to be hauled back to camp. Probably take six, maybe eight trips, but we’d have it done in two days I bet.”
 

Steven’s eyes squeezed shut as his head shook at the group. “How much you figure that old wagon can hold in each trip? A cord, half a cord?”

George pondered the question, bouncing his head as he did some quick calculations. After several quick shallow breaths, he rubbed his temples. Steven winked at the group, enjoying the show.

“Thousand pounds, George,” Steven finally answered. “A quarter to one-third of a cord.” George shrugged, basically agreeing with his boss. “And it looks to me like we have about six cords, right?” George inspected the pile one last time and gave his agreement.

“More or less.”

“So that’s 20 loads, at best.” Steven spun to face the group, grinning from ear to ear. “Now,” Steven was saving the best for last. “Can anyone tell me what happened to our horse this past spring?”

“She died,” someone shouted from the back of the group.

Steven clapped his hands once. “Exactly.” His dark eyes searched the gang to see who got it first. One by one they all came to the same realization. “So, how exactly are we getting 20 wagons full of wood back to the camp?”
 

The group fell deathly quiet, like students during a calculus test. Noticing his wife approaching over the hill, Steven left them and their taxed minds to work out this new wrinkle.

“Steven,” Cara called as she approached. “Are you on break?” Joining hands, Cara rose up on her tiptoes and kissed her husband on the lips.
 

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t like any public displays of affection?” She smiled and took his arm in hers. “And no, they’re just trying to figure out a way to get all that wood back to camp. It’ll take a while.” Grinning, he patted a spot on the ground next to where he plopped down for her to join him. “So,” he asked, “what’s with the kiss?”

Cara shook her hair out of its typical bun and ran her fingers through the tangles. “Nothing. I love you, that’s all.” She flashed a quick smile before looking away.

“What happened?” he asked dryly.

“Nothing really.” Playing with some dead leaves, she brought them close to her face to take a quick smell. “I just, um…I just ran into Mrs. Bosworth this morning. Sheila.” She searched his face for a moment, perhaps wondering if he recognized the name. He decided to remain neutral, hoping she would continue. “Well, she asked about this and that. Asked about our relationship. If you were my father perhaps.” Steven grinned, but was greeted with a severe frown. “It’s not funny. We’re husband and wife. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

Steven laid back on his elbows. “I told you, every time someone new shows up and sees us together, they’re bound to ask. I told you getting married wasn’t a good idea. Too many complications. Too many nosy people, right?”

Cara avoided his eyes. “I don’t care about that – about what other people might think. We, us, are
our
business. Not theirs. And as far as anything about you and me, it’s none of their concern.”

“Then why do you get all riled up every time someone brings this up? You afraid?” His head tipped right as his lips tucked into his teeth, eyes opened wide.

Cara sighed and rubbed her temples. “None of our life is any of their business. Only what we choose to show or tell them. You know very well that’s how I feel, Steven.”

Tipping forward to grab her full attention, he spoke slowly. “Are you embarrassed? By us? By me? Because of–”

She pounded her hand to the ground. “Never. Absolutely not.” She spun and stared deep into his eyes, his soul. “I love you, and I know you love me just as dearly. Nothing else matters. And it never will matter. Even if the whole world were to find out. I’ll always be proud to be your wife.”
 

Rising from her spot, Cara brushed the dirt and leaves from her jeans. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to camp and supervise the harvest.”
 

Steven rose beside her and gave her a brief hug. “So why’d you come out here then?”
 

Cara finally smiled again. “Just to say hi, that’s all.” She turned to leave and waved her goodbye. Suddenly she stopped. “Oh, and the scouts say there’s a large group headed this way. Looks like a family or a group, nine or 10. Perhaps you could come in early for lunch. To help out there…I mean, if needed.”

Steven watched Cara disappear over the same hill she came by. Hearing the crunching of leaves drawing near, he turned to find George smiling at him.

“You sure got the prettiest wife in all of Camp Nine, boss.”

Steven chuckled briefly, taking one last look at her. “Yeah, she’s a real live wire, that one.” Turning back to George, his focus fell on his empty stomach. “What do you say we knock off a little early and head back for lunch? Think the gang would like that?”