The Valley of Light by Terry Kay

Author:Terry Kay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Washington Square Press
Published: 2003-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

He stayed late on the cot, watching the sun ease out of the trees—the trees still holding the rinse of rain—and then he went to the spring to wash the sleep from his eyes and to get water for his coffee and oatmeal. He was cleaning his dish in the wash pan when he heard his name being called from the front of the shack. He knew by the voice that it was Eleanor Cunningham.

She was carrying a basket that appeared to be filled with towels or something like towels, and she seemed surprised to find him at the shack, saying, “I thought you’d be gone already.”

“I was waiting a little bit for the sun to dry out the store some,” he told her.

“I can come back later,” she said, and she turned to leave.

“It’s all right,” Noah said. “I’ll be going in a few minutes, anyhow.” It was a small lie, but one that seemed necessary.

She paused, looked back at him. “Are you sure?”

“Soon as I finish my coffee,” he answered.

“You have enough for two cups?” she asked.

“More than enough,” he replied. “I’ll pour you one.”

“I could use it,” she told him.

The basket contained towels and bedsheets for the cot and some cleaning materials.

“I thought I’d clean up the place a little bit,” she explained. “Put a sheet on the cot and leave you some towels.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he said.

“I know I don’t,” Eleanor told him. “But it’s something I want to do. I owe you, and it’s little enough as a payback.”

“You don’t owe me,” he said.

“In my way of thinking, I do,” she replied. “Besides, I haven’t been down here in a long time. I always liked it here, almost as much as my husband did.”

He wondered if being at the shack bothered her, remembering her husband’s death. Yet, she did not look bothered. There was a freshness about her. Her hair was not gathered in the small bun at her neck as it had been. Her face seemed to hold a faint coating of makeup. Her eyes seemed clear, bright.

“I swept up some,” he said.

She glanced around the shack, her face showing pleasure. “It looks a lot better than it did when Boyd would come down here,” she said. “He never swept the floor or picked up anything. I’d come down every couple of weeks and try to straighten it up, but it always seemed to get on his nerves, having me around. Especially after the war. Before, it was different. We had some nice times before he went off to war, but when he got back, he liked being by himself and this was the place that let him do that, I suppose.” She smiled a smile that held memory. “One time I picked some wildflowers—ironweed, pretty little purple flowers—and put them in a vase and left it on the table, and he threw them out the minute he saw them.” She turned to look at Noah. “After that, I just let him do what he wanted to with it.

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