“Nope.” He lowered his hat and shrugged the blanket back over his shoulders.
“Then what’s this all about?”
He gave her an odd look. “To tell you the truth, I wish I knew.”
“What are you doing out here in the woods?”
“I told you, ’cause I wanted to get some peace and quiet.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “But it’s all because of
Candy looked in the direction he indicated. Half hidden among the trees, the moose lingered in the woods nearby, nosing around lazily for any greenery it could find.
Thoughtfully she turned back to the old hermit. “What happened?”
He cocked an eyebrow, made a face, and motioned toward the other side of the fire. “I’ll tell you, but you might as well take a load off your feet. You can sit down over there. I fixed you a place.”
“You—?” She tilted her head as her gaze shifted.
On the opposite side of the fire sat a rustic chair made from stripped tree branches of various sizes, patched together with twine and vines and probably a few old nails he had scavenged somewhere. It looked a dozen years old, and probably had been sitting out here in the weather since he’d made it from whatever he could find around the camp, she surmised. He’d dressed it up with a multicolored cushion and had laid a blanket on the seat.
It looked as if he’d been waiting for her.
“You knew I was coming?”
“I suspected you’d get here eventually,” he confirmed. He pointed to a black iron kettle sitting on flat rocks at one side of the fire, steam drifting from its curved spout. “Tea?”
“Tea?” Candy’s gaze shifted again. She noticed two tin mugs sitting on a larger flat rock beside the fire, and a few tea bags inside a pocket of crinkled tinfoil.
Her eyes widened. “You have tea?”
“ ’Course I have tea. Coffee too. And sugar. Do you think I’m some uncivilized old coot?”
She let herself relax, unaware she’d been holding herself so stiffly, and allowed herself a small smile. She was beginning to like the old hermit.
She’d just had tea with the Psychic Sisters, but how could she refuse another cup from one of Cape Willington’s most reclusive citizens? “I’d love some.”
“Got some biscuits too, if you want them.”
“That would be wonderful. I seem to have missed lunch.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected as much, and used a coarse folded cloth to grasp the kettle’s handle. He poured hot water into the mugs and added two tea bags, which he took from the tinfoil pouch. “I got the biscuits inside. Might even have a little marmalade left, and maybe a few crackers. It’s not fancy, but it’ll fill you up.”
He grunted as he rose, shrugged off the blanket, and ducked into the cleft in the rock without another word.
Alone, Candy surveyed the small, enclosed camp in which she found herself. It was sheltered on the west by the lichen-covered granite wall and on the north by a snowy embankment topped by a thick stand of squat pines. To the southeast, an outgrowth of rocks stood guard, surrounded by dense shrubbery and the encroaching forest.
It was well protected from the weather, and from any prying eyes that might pass by.
The camp itself was sparsely but adequately equipped. She saw a sledge stacked high with firewood parked next to the rock wall, to the left of the cleft. On the other side, Solomon had set up a green-roofed lean-to, backed up against the wall. Underneath it he’d put out a rickety folding table and chair, a small outdoor cookstove, and a lantern, which hung from one of the crossbars on a rusted iron hook.
The only other furniture in the camp was an old wooden three-legged stool by the fire, upon which Solomon had been sitting, and the homemade wood chair opposite it.
Candy crossed to the chair and tested it. It seemed sturdy enough. The blanket looked warm, though she suspected it hadn’t been washed in a while. Nevertheless, she was grateful for a place to sit after her trek through the woods, and settled in, draping the blanket over her legs as she cozied up to the fire.
Solomon was back in a few minutes with a tin of biscuits, a jar of marmalade, and a small silver spoon. “It’s the best I can do,” he told her, setting out his wares. He handed her one of the mugs of tea, still steeping, and pointed to the biscuits. “Help yourself.”
Under any other circumstances she might have refused, since she didn’t know how long the food had been sitting around. But out here in the woods, in the fresh, cold air, after her trek with the moose, she was famished, and grateful for the old hermit’s hospitality. She took a biscuit, which was wonderfully warm, and swathed marmalade on top. It tasted like a feast.
“I just made them a little earlier,” Solomon said with a twinkle in his eye. “Only a half dozen or so. I wasn’t sure what you’d be wanting.”
Candy took another bite of the biscuit, which was flaky and flavorful. And she couldn’t help but let out a laugh. It was all so… unexpected.
“You’re a pretty good cook,” she told him.
He shrugged, but it was clear he was pleased with the compliment. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. And I been doing a pretty good job of it too, you know.”
“Don’t you ever get lonely out here?”
“Bah!” he told her, emphasizing the word with an exaggerated shake of his head and a crooked wave of his hand, as if brushing away such thoughts.
She got the point and laughed briefly, but quickly became serious again. “How did you know I was coming today?”
He cackled. “That’s just it! I didn’t know for sure. At first I thought you were gonna get here yesterday.”
“Why yesterday?”
“Because of him.” Solomon pointed with his head toward the woods, in the general direction of the moose.
When the old hermit saw Candy’s confused look, he laughed again, which deepened the crow’s feet at the corners of his gray, wizened eyes.
“So the moose is part of all this?” she said by way of clarification as she finished the biscuit in another quick bite.
“Sure is. He’s the reason I’m out here.”
She swallowed and took a sip of her tea as she collected her thoughts. All this time that she’d been worrying about him, he’d been out here in the woods, hiding inside a rock wall, sipping tea and eating homemade biscuits with a moose. It was almost too funny for words.
She looked around the camp again and was amazed that he’d been able to not just survive, but to set up this small bit of civilization deep in the woods. “How long have you been out here?”
He shrugged. “A few days this time.”
“You’ve camped here before?”
“Oh, sure, a bunch of times. It’s nice out here, especially in the summer. Except for the bugs, of course. That’s what makes it especially nice in the winter. It’s peaceful. I fixed it up a little—just in case I needed a place to hide out.”
Something in the way he said it made her shiver involuntarily. In a quieter tone, she asked, “Why do you need to hide out here now?”
He reacted physically to the question, as if it had attacked him, folding in on himself and pulling the blanket tighter around him.
When he spoke, she detected a note of fear in his voice for the first time.
“Because,” he said, eyes shifting back and forth to the woods nearby, “there’s something out there. Something’s after me.”
She felt a chill. “What?”
He grunted and shook his head resignedly. “Damned if I know.”
“Have you seen this thing that’s after you?”
“No, but I heard it.”
“Don’t you have
He shook his head.
