She let him finish laughing and when he was done, she said, “You know, that first night? When you snarled at me and tried to scare me? Well—you scared me pretty good—”
“Couldn’t scare any brains into you, though,” he interrupted.
“Well, that’s more my problem than yours. When I get my mind made up about something, it’s hard to move me in any direction. But when I went to my car to eat the packed lunch I had, while the sun was setting and the snow started to fall, I thought I’d never in my life seen a more beautiful place. There was a rainbow in the snow! And I wasn’t afraid, because it was just pristine and glorious. You can have all the extras in the world in the city, but this is something you just can’t buy.”
He was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “You know what Bobby said about you? He said you were a real pistol.”
She watched his eyes. “That’s almost talking about it,” she said.
“Then pretend I didn’t say anything. You should be in bed.”
“When was the last time you slept?” she asked him.
“I should pull out my pallet, and you should be asleep again,” he said. “Besides, this is more talking than I’m used to and I think I’m worn out.”
“All right,” she said. She stood from her chair and looked down at the book. “Thomas Jefferson?” she asked. “Did you ever read John Adams?”
He nodded.
“Me too. I loved that book. What I loved was Abigail—she was amazing. Old John left her with a farm, children, very little money in a country in revolution and she did it all. She was my idol. If I could be anyone, I’d be Abigail Adams.”
“Because she did it all?” he asked.
“Because she was glad to do it all and never complained, that’s how committed she was to what John was doing. I know—as a woman, a feminist, I’m not supposed to admire a woman who’d do all that for a man, but she was doing it for herself. As if that was the contribution she could make to the founding of America. And they wrote each other letters—not just romantic, loving letters, but letters asking each other for advice. They were first good friends, two people who respected each other’s brains, and then obviously lovers, since they had a slew of kids. True partners, long before true partners were fashionable. And she—”
“I like biographies,” he said, cutting her off as though he’d heard enough about Abigail. “Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t tell you.”
She went to her couch and pulled off her boots. “Maybe you like figuring out why peoples’ lives turn out the way they do. It’s always a mystery, isn’t it?”
He pumped some water into the sink and cleaned up the mugs and spoons. Then he covered the pot of soup, not responding.
“Hey—you don’t have a refrigerator…”
“I have a shed,” he said. “It’ll keep some food cold enough for another day. Can’t keep eggs or milk—they’ll freeze. But if the soup freezes, we’ll thaw it and cook it again.”
“A shed for a refrigerator,” she said, lying back on the sofa. “Is the truck loaded for morning?”
He nodded. “If I’m gone when you wake up, you think you’ll be okay to walk out back on your own? Because there’s always the blue pot…”
“If I’m shaky, I’ll take advantage of the blue pot—but really, I’m feeling very much better. Just a little tired.”
“Besides bread, peanut butter, honey and juice in here, there’s also lots of stuff in cans you can open. Beans and soup,” he said. “I’ll probably be back and forth some tomorrow, loading and delivering.” Then he headed out the door with his big pot of chicken soup.
“Thank you, Ian. For taking such good care of me. I know I’m a terrible imposition.”
He didn’t say anything, but he did stop in the doorway for a moment before going out.
She settled back on the couch. It wasn’t much, this little cabin. It was less than not much—it was stark and only the most absolutely necessary things were supplied. But considering she’d finally found him, it was extremely comfortable for her. If it was her cabin, she’d have soup bowls and plates, better furniture, an indoor biffy. She remembered Mel’s words, “I have to ask him, in case his means are slim…” Really, there was no telling about that. Oh, he seemed to have very little money, but who knew how much of this mountain had been left to him and whether it was worth anything? It could be it was a little patch of worthless land. Or maybe it was vast and he had no idea the value. He didn’t seem real focused on that.