Bill leaned against the trunk of his car, and watched Faith hurry to the church parking lot 50 yards away. As she passed a group of churchwomen, they turned their backs in an obvious show of disdain.
'What have I gotten myself into, now?'
Faith climbed into a beat up Dodge Power Wagon and sat there longer than reasonable. Climbing back out, she smiled at him, then kicked the tire in mock anger and threw up her hands in frustration. Moving to the front, she lifted the hood, reached in and, from the shimmy of her dress, apparently wiggled something. When satisfied, she slammed the hood shut, and impulsively wiped her hand on her dress.
Bill heard an exasperated groan, as she lifted the fabric to examine the fresh grease stain. In the process, he saw the burn scar stopped below the knee. 'She's kind of cute, in a quirky way.'
Faith gave him the thumbs up sign, reentered the truck and started a sputtering engine.
"Now there's dependable transportation."
When she pulled alongside, Bill threw his bags into the truck bed. He opened the passenger door and a mishmash of items fell out, including a hammer that made him dance.
With an apologetic grin, she said, "Sorry. My Mercedes is in the shop. Just put that stuff in the back."
"Let me guess, you're too busy to be neat."
"Hey, that's a good one. I'll remember to use it, next time."
***
In the minute it took Bill to pick up the debris field and sit in the passenger seat, Faith had decided to perform her "Kool-Aid racist test", because his coming home with her changed everything.
'I should have left him alone,' she thought. 'Then I could have accepted his charity without condition.'
Now, Bill was no longer a faceless philanthropist, and, on principle, she wouldn't accept anything from an identifiable bigot.
Searching through her purse, disguised as a book bag, Faith said, "I have to make a quick stop at the grocery store -- if I can find my coupons."
She picked out the newest photo of her children. Their faces always brought back the memory of her late husband, Lou, chasing them around the house, and yelling, "I want something sweet to eat. Where are those caramel candies?" They'd squeal and run, until he caught them up in a kissing frenzy -- teaching them to be comfortable with their bi-racial ethnicity.
No one was welcome in her house that believed them to be an error in judgment.
"Bill, do you have any kids?"
"Yes, I have a daughter."
He didn't say much and wasn't making it easy for her.
Handing him the photo, she said, "Here's a picture of my two babies, I took at Christmas. They're away at college until May," and then watched closely for his reaction.
At first, he glanced indifferently, and then his brow knit. His stare intensified.
Faith's stomach knotted, afraid she'd have to return the desperately needed money, and prepared for some insensitive comment like, "Are they adopted?" or worse -- a racial slur. An elderly matron in the church once looked at her kid's photo and called her a "nigger lover".
Faith had only recently returned to church services at the Pastors persistence. "Not everyone is racist here. Come back, and God will bless you for showing everyone what love really is."
So she started attending Sunday mornings, despite cold shoulders, and felt truly blessed by this surprise donation, now hanging in the balance.
Bill asked, "What are they... twins?" Handing back the photo, he added, "Very handsome boy and she could be a model. Nice smiles. My daughter's a senior -- graduates next month."
A weight lifted from her heart as if blown into space. Not only hadn't their race mattered, "Yes, they are twins. No one's guessed that in years."
"Really?" He laid his head back and closed his eyes, "they look as much alike as any brother and sister could."
"They may look similar but they are vastly different personalities. Seth is going to law school at Syracuse and Amy is premed at Buffalo."
Bill yawned, "Excuse me, I didn't sleep very well last night." Then turned his head to look at her, and added, "You must be very proud. I must've been difficult, raising them alone."
"They're good kids. It wasn't that hard," she said, modestly.
His eyelids drooped. He wasn't going to be chatty.
"I'll stop at the store some other time."
A few miles down the road, Faith studied him after he fell asleep. Despite his scruffiness, Bill was a handsome man. Forty-something, his face had the tanned, rugged look of an outdoorsman and, as much as she could tell through the layers of clothing, the physique to match. The backs of his hands were crisscrossed with bulging veins, hinting a familiarity with manual labor.
'I like strong hands. They show a down to earth quality in a man, someone who meets life's challenges hands-on.'
There was no wedding band or hint of tan line. She knew married construction workers often didn't wear rings, for safety reasons, so that didn't necessarily mean he was single. Strangely, she hoped he was unattached. Not because she wanted a man permanently. It would be fun just spending the next day or two close to an intelligent, single possibility.
The idea of a suitor had been in her mind lately. Butch, her contractor, flirted all the time, while working on the bunkhouse without pay for the last week. He'd asked her out. But she'd put him off.
'Why,' she thought. 'What's wrong with Butch?'
The list began to run through her head. First, he wasn't respectful. Second, he wasn't interested in hearing about her kids, which was huge. Third, he was too sweet -- phony sweet. She could probably think of more but...'Let's look at the pluses.'
Faith thought a few seconds and finally came up with, 'I'm just desperate,' then looked at Bill Holder and smiled. 'He'll make a nice fantasy... for a few days anyway.'
The pothole at the turnoff bounced Bill awake. The truck began the strained climb uphill, its wheels slipped on the loose gravel.
"Almost there, Mr. Holder," Faith announced, keeping her concentration on the narrow lane. In her peripheral vision she saw him brace, while looking out his window and over the treetops. "Welcome to Talon Mountain."
"Call me, Bill," he said. Glancing behind them, he asked, "How do you drive up this in the snow?"
"Oh, this is only an old farm road. The main entrance is on the other side. I brought you this way because I thought you might enjoy the view."
The extraordinary panorama of forest and sparkling water extended to the horizon. There were patches of snow, hidden in the earth's shadowy folds, where the late March sun couldn't reach. The hardwoods were still without the budding evidence of spring.
"Let me guess, that must be Talon Lake down there?"
"Nice try. But the official name is reservoir number 5. It's man-made."
"Why aren't there any camps along the shoreline?"
"You aren't from around here are ya'?" she said, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "All the land is restricted. This is the watershed for New York City. If they catch you even spitting on the ground they'll lock you up for life. Nothing's allowed that might contaminate the water. No powerboats, snowmobiles or anything motorized is allowed inside the Park region, but you can use a rowboat. It'll cost you $200 a year for a permit. And then you have to leave the boat chained to a tree, because if you take it away from the shoreline your permit is revoked. This is serious business."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"It is, if you live in New York City."
They rolled into a rutted section, and Faith briefly struggled with the wheel.
