Tethered Pt 03

14

They had loomed in the distance for a week: pale, almost translucent, wispy mirages. Now that they'd reached and begun traversing the mountains, they were agonizingly real. The inclining road was murder on her calves. Portions of the path were little more than ledges with nightmare drops to valleys below bearing trees that resembled upright toothpicks from this precarious height.

Their first night on the mountain, a large fire had been their only source of safety. She'd barely slept, each foreign sound sparking her into high alert. Nothing had come, just as her master had said. The cold, he had said. Still, each time her eyes burst open at some fresh terror, she'd seen him sitting watch in the firelight, rifle resting in his lap.

"Rest," he said, and her burning calves screamed their gratitude.

As they shared a few pieces of dried rabbit meat, she tried to focus on anything but his labored breathing. The mountain road was hard going. The air was thinner up here, the chill harsh on the lungs. Her own breathing was just as quick, but still, she worried over the fast rise and fall of his chest. She worried over the lack of color in his face. They'd been traveling for six hours today, and this was their third break.

A cry came from somewhere within the forest of trees, sounding at the same time close and distant as it reverberated off the sheer mountain walls. Her master jerked his head at the sound. It came again. Definitely above them. Definitely human. Definitely female.

She opened her mouth. Her master cut her off with a swift gesture. He started packing up the meat. He stood with a groan and motioned her to follow. They hadn't made it more than forty yards when the cry came again. This time there was no mistaking the pain carried on the wind.

He stopped in the middle of the road, shaking his head and cursing. He unslung his rifle, held it firm to his chest. He slipped his backpack off and set it on the road. "Keep your eyes open," he said as he left the road and headed into the dense, concealing trees.

Two cries and ten minutes later, they found the woman sprawled at the bottom of a fifteen foot bluff. Her clothes were covered in pine needles as if she'd rolled around in them, and her right leg bent at a nasty angle. She was very slight, knobby. She wore a heavy woolen coat and overly-patched denim jeans. There was too much pain plastered on her smudged face to register much surprise at the emergence of strangers.

"Broken," she gasped, then, "bear."

Her master kept his eyes on the woman. Hers frantically scanned the area for signs of furred movement. When she peeled her gaze away from the thick brush, she saw him holding the rifle out to her.

"Keep it on her," he said. She took it and did as instructed, her limbs shaking slightly.

Her master went to the women, knelt. "May I?" he asked. When she nodded, he placed his hands gingerly on her knee. She cried out. "If this is an ambush..."

"There's easier ways...than breaking my fucking leg," she said through gritted teeth.

"If it is..."

"It's not an ambush."

"If," he repeated with emphasis. "You don't make it out."

"It's not an ambush."

"Just know," her master said. She nodded. "What happened?"

"I was foraging. She came out of nowhere. I was backing away. I didn't notice the bluff. My village isn't far, about five miles. There's..."

Her master rose and started away.

"You can't leave me here," the woman said.

"Stay," her master said.

He left them, then returned a few minutes later with a his knife and their rope. He went about breaking and sawing thick branches. Perspiration coated and dripped from his face at the exertion. She longed to go to him, take the knife from his hand, and finish the work. He'd already given her a task though.

"What's your name?" she asked the woman.

"Melanie," she answered. "Yours?"

The woman frowned at her silence. She wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

Within an hour, her master had set Melanie's leg and crafted a makeshift gurney. It wasn't pretty and it certainly wouldn't be comfortable, but it would work. They each took a length of rope and started down steep incline. Melanie tried her best, but she screamed or yelped at almost every jostle. She passed out before they reached the road.

15

Melanie's village looked like a ranch that had been plucked out of an old black and white western, pulled right through the film, colorized, and dropped in a lush green valley. Instead of a high protective wall, it was encircled by fencing made of log. It wouldn't keep much out, but that didn't appear to be its purpose. Smaller fences peppered the grounds, hosting a bevy of animals: horses, sheep, cattle, pigs. Chickens and dogs wove in and around the fifteen or so A-frame cabins housed within the fence's border. Her eyes settled on a large barn in the center of the village, but she wasn't given time to take it in. A pack of villagers was heading their way, guns in their hands.

Her master pulled up short even before the voices commanded it.

"That's far enough," a bespeckled man called.

"I believe we're carrying someone that belongs here," her master said. "Calls herself Melanie."

The man craned his neck, trying to view the woman on the crude gurney. "Melanie?"

"She's resting," her master said.

"What happened to her?"

"She took a tumble. She needs seeing to."

"Wait here," the man said. Her master nodded. The man turned to a woman at his side. She had a pistol pressed against her thigh. "Kat, see that they do."

In the awkward silence that fell, her master said, "We're going to sit, Kat, if you have no objection. Long day." He didn't wait for the young woman to respond.

A few minutes later, she spied a figure in black coming toward them on a well-beaten path. As it drew closer, she saw it was a woman in a dusty black dress that came to her ankles. She wore a black cowboy hat, and leather gloves covered her hands. She was tall and broad. She walked purposefully, not quick, like a woman on a mission or a woman who'd been rudely pulled away from a more important mission. When she reached them, she yanked off her hat and exhaled a loud breath. Dark eyes almost hidden by black curls took in the scene.

"Welcome to Haven," she said, and smiled. "Kat, put that gun away. I hear you're returning something that belongs to us."

Her master nodded. The woman came close to the gurney, knelt to inspect Melanie.

"Leg?" she asked.

"Yeah," her master said.

"Broken?"

"Very."

"Tim, get her to Carson."

"Yes, ma'am," a man in a faded plaid shirt said. He and Kat took up the gurney and carried Melanie away.

The woman tugged off her gloves, shoved them in a sown-on dress pocket. She ran a hand through her long, black locks, then tugged her hat back on her head. She regarded them with piercing blue eyes. "My name's Cassandra. Some folks call me Cassie. Most call me ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Cassandra," her master said, then told her his name.

Cassandra's attention fell on her. She looked her in the eyes only briefly. The woman's gaze seemed fixed on her neck. She tried not to, but her hand went self-consciously to the pale tan line usually covered by her collar. She found the woman's gaze too penetrating, and she cast her eyes down.

After a few moments of silence, Cassandra asked, "Doesn't she have a name?"

"Yes," her master said, then stretched out the silence.

The corner of Cassandra's mouth twitched. It could've been in confusion. It could've been a smirk. "What brings you up the mountain?"

"Heard there was good skiing."

"Not so much in the summer."

"Pity."

"Plan on staying long?"

"No."

"Well, you'll stay at least tonight," Cassandra said. "We're in your debt. Please do us the honor of feeding you."

Her master thought a few moments. "I didn't get this chiseled physique by turning down free meals."

Cassandra gave him a short, throaty chuckle. "Perfect. Dinner's free. Breakfast too. Anything after that, you'll earn same as everyone else here."

"We'll be on our way in the morning," her master said.

"It's a free country. Isn't that what they used to say?"

"They used to say a lot of things."

"Yes. They certainly did." Cassandra's face had darkened just the slightest bit, but now a bright smile spread across it. "Come on then. Follow me. You look like you've been hard at it for a good bit. We don't have too much here, but, for tonight at least, what's ours is yours."

16

Cassandra's notion of "too much" differed considerably from hers. Add another "e" to it, and that described Haven perfectly.

They were escorted to a small A-frame cabin. A knock at the door summoned a young couple that greeted Cassandra warmly. While she took in the cabin's cozy confines, the trio stuck their heads together and spoke quietly for a minute. Over her master's protests, it was decided that the young couple would go and bunk with his parents, giving she and her master use of the cabin for the night.

"It's no trouble," the young man said. "Really. Helping Melanie out like that, it's the least we can do."

"There's a tub in the back there," the woman said. "The well's close, and you can heat water in the fireplace. Pots are just over here."

Her master offered further protests, but they met smiling faces and deaf ears.

After the couple gathered a few essentials and left, Cassandra said, "We eat our evening meals together in the Hall. It's the biggest building. Can't miss it. Dinner'll be in about two hours. I've got some chores left that need doing, but after you get cleaned up and rested, make your way over there. I'll save you a seat."

The woman, though by no means rude, seemed to make a point of addressing only her master. She felt entirely left out of the interaction, not an uncommon feeling. She'd routinely been ignored by her master and his friends at dinner parties, at other kinds of parties. That had been long ago though. On the road, she was often an object of focus, sometimes uncomfortably so. Even when her master made zero attempt to include her, she felt eyes on her. Some lustful, but most simply curious of this speechless woman. Cassandra exhibited no such inquisitiveness. She simply ignored her, behaved as if she weren't even in the room. It unnerved her.

"See you soon," the woman said in parting.

Her master grunted as he heaved a cast iron pot onto his shoulder. "Start a fire while I get water."

"Yes, Master."

17

In the time before, it wouldn't have been impressive. Now, stepping inside and taking in the Hall, she had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from weeping. The high ceiling, crisscrossed with thick rafters, loomed over a forty foot banquet table. Chatting people crowded onto benches on either side. Candles fixed to chandeliers made of deer racks provided the light they needed to pick, stab, and tear at an unbelievable assortment of dishes in the middle of the table. Her mouth watered at the sight: thin cuts of meats, baked and mashed potatoes, saucers of butter, baskets of bread, green beans, cauliflower steaming in bowls, pitchers of water, pitchers of beer. Her stomach whimpered. She hadn't seen so much food in one place in years.

Cassandra sat on one of the benches, talking animatedly with the people to her right. To her left, two empty spaces. She'd changed into a different black dress. Though she still looked rugged, she seemed softer and lovelier in the new attire. The sight of the woman's clean, fetching dress made her feel grimy and suddenly awkward. She clasped her hands in front of her to stay them from fidgeting. Cassandra noticed them, summoned them over with a big have of her hand.

"There's our heroes," she said as she patted the open seats next to her. She'd used plural language, but the woman hadn't so much as looked at her.

"Hardly," her master said.

"No," a man with a bushy salt and pepper mustache said, rising. "If you hadn't done what you did, we might've lost our little girl." The woman beside him nodded, and he stuck out a calloused hand. "We're in your debt."

Her master shook the offered hand. "I'm glad we came along when we did."

"Really," he said with a slight flush in his cheeks, "we couldn't possibly thank you enough." He bent over and took up the finished plate in front of him. His wife did the same. "After you've eaten, come by our cabin. Furthest one to the north. I've got a bottle I've been saving. Can't think of a better occasion to crack it open. "

"Don't go getting hammered tonight, Caleb," Cassandra said. "They've got traveling to do tomorrow, and you've got a good stretch of fence to repair."

Caleb's cheeks reddened a bit more. "No ma'am. Wouldn't dream of it."

"Uh huh. Go on and let me converse with our guests."

Caleb and his wife left them with another round of gratitude and a mention that the bottle of scotch was over forty years old.

"Melanie's the only child they have left," Cassandra said. "They're tough as nails, but I'm not sure they could take another loss." She looked contemplative for a moment, then smiled weakly. "Have a seat. Take what you like. The road's a hard place. I imagine you're famished."

It took all her willpower to keep from snatching three helpings of every dish the table offered and cramming each morsel down her throat. She started with a thick piece of sweet-smelling bread. She lathered it in butter that melted almost before she'd finished spreading it. She took as demure a bite as she could manage, and immediately thought her taste buds would explode. They'd been living on barely salted, gamy meat and bland canned vegetables for months. By the time she chewed off a bite of savory meat, she was lightheaded with euphoria. Warm grease dribbled down her chin. It was an unladylike display, and she couldn't have given less of a fuck.

Her master showed characteristic restraint. Damn him. He nibbled at his meal as if he were at a posh restaurant. Cassandra touched his arm as she answered his questions about Haven. She patted his thigh as she inquired of the villages they'd come through before hazarding the mountains.

"Forgive me," her master said, "but this place? How have you managed to hold it? No one's tried to take it from you."

"They've tried," Cassandra said, eyes narrowing as she momentarily lost her smile. "They failed."

"Cassie." A man in his mid-twenties came up to them. The sleeve of his heavy shirt swung at his side where his right arm should've been. He was out of breath. "Sorry, but that mare's having problems. The colt's backward and we can't seem to..."

Cassandra rose. "Yeah, I'm coming," she said. "You'll have to excuse me. If I don't see you later, I'll see you off tomorrow. Might be that we can make the trail a bit easier on you, so don't leave without saying goodbye."

"Wouldn't think of it," her master said.

The woman started off, but she stopped and turned back. "Do have that drink with Caleb. It would mean the world to him. If I get done in time, I'll join you." She left them not in a rush, but with that same purposeful stride.

18

She was kneeling beside the fireplace, reading a well-worn copy of

Robinson Crusoe

, when her master returned to the cabin. The sun had set hours ago. His steps were just the slightest bit off-kilter. She laid the book next to her, bowed her head, and waited. He went to the couch made of threaded willows and sat heavily.

"Remove my boots," he said.

She crawled to him and did as he bid. He patted his thigh, and she rested her cheek on it. His fingers found her hair and twirled into a few strands.

"We'll be staying a few more days," he said, scratching at her scalp with his fingernails, sending shivers down her body.

Twin emotions of elation and foreboding washed over her.

Her master fell asleep easily. She did not. Head in his lap, she wrapped her arms around his leg and burrowed into him, careful not to wake him, but desperate to be as close as possible to her owner.

19

Tending one of the many gardens, she couldn't keep from raising her fingers to her nose and inhaling deeply. The mingled scents of fresh thyme, rosemary, sage, and lavender were intoxicating. If she closed her eyes and thought very hard, she could almost imagine she was dabbing herself with expensive perfume in preparation for a night out at the theater. She looked down at the dress Melanie had given her. It wasn't on quite the same level as the sheer, lacy gowns she'd worn while sitting in box seats to watch

Chicago

or

Rent

, but it was clean and dry and free of tears.

On her knees in the cool soil, she plucked the herbs, then deposited them in the basket she held. The morning breeze was languid, crisp. She inhaled the slightly pine-tinged air as she had the herbs, and with the same relish. She cast her gaze over the dozen or so others tending the gardens. Like her, they worked at a relaxed pace. There was no reason to rush, no urgency. A woman named Beth hummed. It was a sweet, welcome sound.

"Slow down, sweetie. You're making an old woman look bad."

Harriet, a lovely lady in her sixties, sidled up to her. She had flowing silver hair and a flower tucked behind her ear.

"If I go any slower, you couldn't tell me apart from one of the trees," she said.

"Bit curvier than those aspens," Harriet said, winking at her. "You keep some of that lavender for yourself. Put it in your bath water tonight. Your man will love it."

The woman went off down the rows, smirking.

She liked Harriet. In fact, she liked nearly everyone she'd met in the week they'd been in Haven. Their kindness and easy acceptance touched her. To a person, they were diligent workers, always quick to lend a hand where need be. They were hard in the way their world demanded, but softer around the edges than most. They laughed a lot.

She wondered if it was the relative ease of their life up here in the mountains, the lack of constant threats, the ability to let their guard down. Surely, that played a significant role, but she didn't think that was the only reason. Maybe Haven attracted these types of people - humble, charitable, gracious. She doubted those of lesser virtues were suffered long. Haven worked, it seemed, because everyone did their fair share and everyone treated each other with decency. A starker contrast to the world she'd survived in these last wretched years, she couldn't imagine.

Her stomach growled, gently reminding her lunch was approaching. It had gotten used to being well-fed of late. Knowing when her next meal would come was a such a luxury, she occasionally pinched herself to make sure it was real. Already, she was putting on some much needed weight. The steady supply of nutrients had energized her in a way she hadn't experienced for years. Her body wasn't just one constant ache anymore. She felt ten years younger.

Haven was almost perfect. Almost.

Sounds of hammers striking wood echoed through the valley. It was been a perpetual symphony all morning. She looked across the village, spotting her master with a group of five building a new pen for the pigs. She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling safe in doing so at this distance. Like herself, the food had given him fresh energy. It had even improved his color, but she still wished he would've chosen a less taxing job than swinging a hammer and carting logs all day. She knew better than to mention this to him. Her master would earn his keep. This, she knew. However, the food, the rest, their new safety, none of these had improved his cough. Maybe it hadn't worsened, but it was not better.

As she watched him work, feeling a mixture of love, attraction, and fury, she saw Cassandra making her way toward the group. When she reached them, she immediately grabbed the end of a log they were fastening to a post and hoisted it up. Say what she might about the woman, and she said plenty colorful things to herself, Cassandra outworked anyone in Haven. She didn't know how the woman accomplished the sheer daily volume of tasks she gave herself.