They held hands and said goodbye in front of Josh’s cottage. Caleb was dressed in Angus’s clothing—shirt and tie, trousers and jacket, plus a pair of shoes that were already too tight.
Annabelle told him the shirt and jacket, billowing around the middle, made him look like a clown. Then she raised her lips for a kiss. He hesitated, finally giving her a peck on each cheek that drew a smile.
“Don’t worry about the dam,” she said. “Father heads the committee. He would never allow anything dangerous to happen.”
“I hope you are right,” he said, brightening. “And thank you for giving me my first sailing lesson. It’s one I shall never forget.”
She ran a finger over the bump on his forehead. It was already turning purple. “My poor, wounded baby,” she said, leaning forward and bestowing a gentle kiss upon it.
Feeling her body pressing against his was more than Caleb could stand. He threw his arms around Annabelle and pulled her into him. Quickly his lips found hers.
He felt their hardness at first, but quickly they softened against his, as they surprised each other with their warmth and feeling—and the realization they were in no hurry for their lips to part.
They were without concern as to whether they would be seen. They were without fear that the future could possibly hold anything but happiness. They knew exactly what they were doing.
+ + +
When the brougham was halfway across the roadway spanning the crest of the dam, Caleb leaned out the window and yelled for Axel to stop.
Caleb got out and limped along the berm, Angus’s shoes cutting into his ankles like a tourniquet. He came to a wide spot where he could step out and look down the side of the dam.
It was an earthen dam, built with soil, rocks, and decaying tree trunks, and Caleb walked as close as he could to the edge. Looking down the side and into the valley, he tried to estimate the height by picking up a rock and hurling it as far as he could.
It landed about half way down.
Caleb figured finally that the dam was at least seven stories high and that the distance across was easily the length of two rugby fields.
He heard a twig snap. Turning, he realized that Axel had come up and was standing beside him. Together they stared down the wooded slopes and into the valley. And then, to Caleb’s astonishment, Axel removed his hat, sank to his knees, and crossed himself.
They remained there for a long moment—until Axel slowly rose. Without saying a word Caleb followed him back to the brougham.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Friday, September 5, 2014
Sneak preview--1 From SECRETS OF THE LAKE. A love story about the Johnstown Flood
As Caleb prepared to wade back into the water, he glanced down the bridle path. A figure ambled toward him from the east—her ankle-length white skirt seeming to flow along the bank. Golden braids bounced from under the stylishly wide brim of her summery straw hat with pink, red, and blue roses tucked in the band.
She was a tall woman with lithe movements. In the elegant way she carried her umbrella, keeping it folded and tucked under the arm, she could have been a tennis player carrying a racquet.
Smiling, she seemed to be waving at something or someone, and Caleb thought how nice and friendly it was if she were waving at him. As she drew closer he was surprised to hear her toss him a little shout while pointing the umbrella with the grace of a danseuse in the direction behind him.
At the same moment he heard hoof beats.
Caleb spun around just in time. The man on the horse was cantering toward him from the other end of the path. He wore army jodhpurs and had a badge over the breast of his grey military coat, all of which was well and good except that what the man carried on his hip gave Caleb pause.
It was a shotgun and it was pointed directly at Caleb.
“Identify yourself,” the rider shouted as he pulled up and dismounted. His tone was anything but polite.
Caleb turned and walked toward him slowly, sheepishly, feeling like he had been caught red-handed stealing the jewels of Queen Victoria. Slowly Caleb raised his hands.
“Did you mean me, sir?” Caleb asked, forcing a smile.
“Who do you think I am speaking to—you half-naked intruder?” He waved the barrel in little circles, but still it was pointed rather uncomfortably at Caleb’s exposed chest. “I doubt if you are a guest of a member, so you are therefore trespassing and only the good Lord knows what else. Disappear immediately or I shall lock you up.”
“I am sorry, but I did not know of your rules,” Caleb said, fully aware that he was lying through his teeth.
“The sign—you had to see it. The last I looked it said members only. And I am further of the belief there were also the words trespassing absolutely forbidden.”
The woman in the straw hat stepped forward.
“He is our guest, Mr. Grimsby,” she said.
She moved between the man and Caleb, jabbing the point of the umbrella into the ground as if preparing to make a royal pronouncement.
Reluctantly Grimsby took his eyes from Caleb. He turned to the woman with the look of a man who had just had his favorite horse stolen.
“I’m sorry, Miss Prescott. I didn’t know you and the gentleman were acquainted.” To Caleb’s immense relief the man lowered the shotgun and nodded to the woman.
“But the gentleman will have to return whatever he has procured in those specimen bottles. Those are the rules, Ma’am.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Grimsby. I shall take care of the matter,” the woman said, painting a look of abject trust across her wicked, little smile.
Grimsby holstered his shotgun, climbed onto his horse, and cantered off. Several times he turned and glanced back.
Caleb and the woman stared at each other for a moment, grinning like a pair of thieves.
“Thank you, Miss Prescott,” Caleb said finally.
“Annabelle,” she said. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“My name is McBride,” he said. “Caleb McBride. I’m collecting Rachophorus Malabaricus—more commonly known by my sixth graders as tadpoles.”
She seemed to like what he said. He noticed the dimple in the middle of her chin.
“Shall I throw them back?” Caleb asked, trying to appear cooperative but having no intention of surrendering his hard-won specimens that had just risen considerably in value.
“I think we can spare a tadpole or two,” she said. “Do you come here often, Mr. McBride?”
“My first and probably my last visit,” he said, pulling on his shirt and vest. He tossed the haversack over his shoulder and grabbed the net.
He paused. It began dawning on Caleb McBride that he was talking to the most beautiful woman in the world. Slowly, a look of panic crossed his face. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His tongue was tied in a thick knot.
“Well, I suppose I should leave,” he said, finally.
“Perhaps we shall meet again, Mr. McBride,” she said.
“Caleb,” he said.
“Goodbye,” she said, pausing. Then in a voice that was filled with music he heard her say his name again.
“Goodbye, Caleb.”
She was a tall woman with lithe movements. In the elegant way she carried her umbrella, keeping it folded and tucked under the arm, she could have been a tennis player carrying a racquet.
Smiling, she seemed to be waving at something or someone, and Caleb thought how nice and friendly it was if she were waving at him. As she drew closer he was surprised to hear her toss him a little shout while pointing the umbrella with the grace of a danseuse in the direction behind him.
At the same moment he heard hoof beats.
Caleb spun around just in time. The man on the horse was cantering toward him from the other end of the path. He wore army jodhpurs and had a badge over the breast of his grey military coat, all of which was well and good except that what the man carried on his hip gave Caleb pause.
It was a shotgun and it was pointed directly at Caleb.
“Identify yourself,” the rider shouted as he pulled up and dismounted. His tone was anything but polite.
Caleb turned and walked toward him slowly, sheepishly, feeling like he had been caught red-handed stealing the jewels of Queen Victoria. Slowly Caleb raised his hands.
“Did you mean me, sir?” Caleb asked, forcing a smile.
“Who do you think I am speaking to—you half-naked intruder?” He waved the barrel in little circles, but still it was pointed rather uncomfortably at Caleb’s exposed chest. “I doubt if you are a guest of a member, so you are therefore trespassing and only the good Lord knows what else. Disappear immediately or I shall lock you up.”
“I am sorry, but I did not know of your rules,” Caleb said, fully aware that he was lying through his teeth.
“The sign—you had to see it. The last I looked it said members only. And I am further of the belief there were also the words trespassing absolutely forbidden.”
The woman in the straw hat stepped forward.
“He is our guest, Mr. Grimsby,” she said.
She moved between the man and Caleb, jabbing the point of the umbrella into the ground as if preparing to make a royal pronouncement.
Reluctantly Grimsby took his eyes from Caleb. He turned to the woman with the look of a man who had just had his favorite horse stolen.
“I’m sorry, Miss Prescott. I didn’t know you and the gentleman were acquainted.” To Caleb’s immense relief the man lowered the shotgun and nodded to the woman.
“But the gentleman will have to return whatever he has procured in those specimen bottles. Those are the rules, Ma’am.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Grimsby. I shall take care of the matter,” the woman said, painting a look of abject trust across her wicked, little smile.
Grimsby holstered his shotgun, climbed onto his horse, and cantered off. Several times he turned and glanced back.
Caleb and the woman stared at each other for a moment, grinning like a pair of thieves.
“Thank you, Miss Prescott,” Caleb said finally.
“Annabelle,” she said. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“My name is McBride,” he said. “Caleb McBride. I’m collecting Rachophorus Malabaricus—more commonly known by my sixth graders as tadpoles.”
She seemed to like what he said. He noticed the dimple in the middle of her chin.
“Shall I throw them back?” Caleb asked, trying to appear cooperative but having no intention of surrendering his hard-won specimens that had just risen considerably in value.
“I think we can spare a tadpole or two,” she said. “Do you come here often, Mr. McBride?”
“My first and probably my last visit,” he said, pulling on his shirt and vest. He tossed the haversack over his shoulder and grabbed the net.
He paused. It began dawning on Caleb McBride that he was talking to the most beautiful woman in the world. Slowly, a look of panic crossed his face. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His tongue was tied in a thick knot.
“Well, I suppose I should leave,” he said, finally.
“Perhaps we shall meet again, Mr. McBride,” she said.
“Caleb,” he said.
“Goodbye,” she said, pausing. Then in a voice that was filled with music he heard her say his name again.
“Goodbye, Caleb.”
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