at the window, he noted the darkening of the day as the next storm raced over the mountainside. He carried Brook to her bed and laid her on the mattress.
“I need to stoke the fire,” he said softly.
He stirred the embers, threw on some logs, and then returned to her. She reached for him, eyes pleading. “Would you hold me? Please? Just hold me.”
Crawling into the narrow bed, he pulled her close. She placed her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He held her until she fell asleep. Soon, he drifted too, and they napped well into the early part of the evening.
Chapter 37
They woke still wrapped in each other's arms and parted almost reluctantly. Brook knew being in Lance’s arms should feel wrong, but it didn’t. She was a married woman. But after all she had endured, she decided she would not feel guilty about taking consolation where she could find it. Maybe it was an excuse, but she didn’t care. She had felt safe and protected next to Lance, and it answered a deep and wrenching need in her soul. Besides, it was innocent. It was as he said, just two people drawing comfort from each other. And although he hadn’t told her so, she got a strong feeling that he had found solace in their closeness as much as she had.
“It's a little late for the cocoa we planned; how about some supper instead?” Lance smiled as he stood and stretched.
“Sounds good,” she replied. “Can I help?”
“You could peel the potatoes. Let me get you over to the table.”
Brook held up a hand, palm out. “No, Lance. I need to try to walk. I have to stop babying my feet sometime.” She stood and made her way to the table while Lance stood by in case she needed him. It wasn’t an easy trek, and she secretly congratulated herself for the progress.
Once she was seated at the table, Lance brought her a bowl, knife, and four potatoes. He prepared the meat for cooking and fired up the stove. They talked while they worked.
“We used to have a big garden,” Brook reminisced.
“Back home in Denver?”
“God forbid! That would never go over where I live now.” Brook smiled. “We have a gardener, but he doesn’t really garden. He just takes care of the grounds. Mows, trims the hedges, waters, that type of work. I wanted a vegetable garden at the house but Clark was outraged and said, ‘That’s what farmers markets are for. That’s who you used to be; that’s not who you are now. Why don’t you join the garden committee at the club?’
'Yeah, right. I didn’t want to tell people what to plant and where. I wanted to do the work myself.” She sighed. “No, I was talking about my childhood. My family always had a big garden and we all pitched in to tend it.”
“Did you like it?” Lance asked.
“Yes, I did. I loved it, actually. From setting out the seeds and plants, right up until we harvested the fruits of our labor. Of course, weeding wasn’t much fun. That’s why Dad always used a thick layer of mulch. I take it you like gardening?”
“Yes,” Lance said as he rolled the meat in seasoned crumbs. “I have a few plots around the cabin. Nothing too big. I buy some of my produce from farmers markets. I plan on teaching myself how to can vegetables.”
Brook finished peeling and laid the knife aside. “I can’t quit thinking about my parents,” she said, staring off into space. “My mom especially. They must be frantic. I wish I could spare them this heartache.”
“I know you do,” Lance said. “I’ve been thinking of that, too, but didn’t want to bring it up again. I know your family is worried about you.” He seemed to mull something over before continuing.
“Brooklyn,” he said. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I could try to snowshoe out of here. If I made it I would be gone at least two days. But, I could call your family and tell them you’re safe. It's up to you. Say the word, and I’ll do my best to get in contact with your people.”
“No!” Brook’s reaction was strong and immediate. “Please don’t leave me here alone. I can’t stand the thought. Besides, if, God forbid, something happened to you, no one would know I’m here.
“Okay, okay,” he soothed. “It was just a suggestion. I didn’t really think it was a good idea. But I’d try it. For you.”
“Oh, Lance. I appreciate that more than you can know. Please don’t let my sadness push you into making unwise decisions. They’re people of strong faith and they won’t give up hope.”
She wiped a tear away, and looked over at Lance, watched his hands as he transferred the meat to a roasting pan.
“Do you ever get lonely?” she asked softly. He seemed surprised by the question, and pondered it for a moment.
“No,” he said. “Not really. At least I don’t think so. How about you?”
“Well, I’m married,” Brook said.
“I know.”
She cocked her head slightly and then nodded.
“I guess marriage isn’t a sure antidote to loneliness,” she admitted. “In fact, the last year I have been lonely. Clark is a hard worker, away a lot of the time. We haven't been as close lately as we used to be.”
“How about friends?” Lance asked as he took the potatoes from her and rinsed them.
“No, not many. Not any, actually. Well, I do like Lizzy from the club, but we don’t do a lot together. And my best friend, Beth, lives back in Kansas. I’m really not close to any of the other women I know. But maybe loneliness has more to do with a person’s state of mind than whether they’re with anyone.”
“I think that’s true,” Lance said. He wondered if he would be lonely once Brook left. He could so easily get used to her presence. Not that it mattered. She’d be leaving come spring if not sooner, depending on the weather, and he’d be wise to remember that. He placed the potatoes in the pan with the meat.
“It’s not that I mind being alone,” Brook said. “I don’t want you to think I need someone around me twenty- four seven.”
“I didn’t think that,” Lance said. “But being around you twenty-four seven sounds like a pretty good gig to me.” She blushed from the compliment. He pretended not to notice as he opened a can of creamed soup and poured it over the meat and potatoes. Reaching above his head, he pulled an onion from a hanging bunch. Deftly, he peeled, sliced, and added it to the pan, before covering it with foil. Opening the oven with a folded towel, he slid the pan inside.
“We’ll be eating supper rather late tonight,” he remarked, changing the subject. “Hope we can stave off our appetites until its ready.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can wait,” Brook answered.
“I have a few things I need to do but I’ll be done by the time the food is ready to come out.”
“Do you mind if I heat some water?” Brook asked. “I’d like to take a sponge bath.”
“I want you to make yourself at home for as long as you’re here,” Lance answered, as he walked to the curtained doorway. “Feel free to help yourself to anything you need.” He smiled at her before he raised the curtain and stepped through.
Brook awkwardly brought a kettle of water to a boil and then found it was too large for her to lift. Using a ladle, she spooned water into a couple of smaller containers she could easily carry into the bathroom.
Kneeling over the tub and using a mixture of hot water from the pans and cold water from the pump to fill a pitcher, she washed and rinsed her hair. Next, she sat in the bottom of the tub and using a wash cloth, soaped herself, shaved her legs and under her arms and then rinsed from the pitcher.
Cleaning between her legs proved to be nearly painless and she mused over the resilience of the human body. Out of water now, she stood and dried. Glancing in the mirror she was pleased to find most her bruises gone. There was still one tender spot on her head but it was much improved. She finger-styled her hair and nodded approval at her reflection. She was clean and, in her opinion, she didn’t look too bad. Now if she could only quit feeling so dirty. If she could only heal her mind.
