Chapter 18 Legend Has It #2
“Amy, it’s so lovely to meet you,” Marg said with a smile. “Bob has told me all about you. Thank you so much for helping him out—he’s getting a little past it now.”
As much as Bob reminded me of an eccentric, loving grandpa, Marg was homely to the point of dowdiness, and equally as nice. Her hair was permed, silver-colored strands climbed through her auburn curls, but her skin was wrinkle free.
“She’s proving to be quite the asset. Even I didn’t know we served up balls.” Bob snorted a chuckle.
Shock dropped my jaw open. Color bloomed on my cheeks. Apparently, there was nothing wrong with his hearing. “Oh, I . . . he was trying to steal,” I muttered to the floor.
Marg let out a honking laugh, and Ethan grinned, but didn’t look surprised, like he knew the story already. Katrina looked befuddled as she glanced between all of us.
“I look forward to hearing the story,” she said.
I threw a warning look at Ethan and mouthed, “No.”
Mischief glinted in his eyes.
Katrina indicated toward the next room with her hand. “Everyone, please come through. Dinner is ready.”
The formal dining room was the epitome of fresh luxury.
A white ornate mantel surrounded a huge open fireplace in the corner—unlit, as it was way too warm for a fire tonight.
In the center stood a long white wooden table, adorned with pretty white flowers and fine white china, white napkins, and what looked like real crystal glasses.
Tall, old-fashioned gold candelabras sat at each end of the table, flickering silently.
A floor-to-ceiling window provided a lovely view across the perfectly manicured green lawn.
“Amy, please sit,” Robert said, pulling out a chair, and Ethan slid himself onto the chair next to mine.
“It looks beautiful, Katrina,” I said, impressed by the setting, and mildly unsettled by the perfection of it all.
“Thank you, Amy. I do love entertaining.” She smiled, sliding into her chair.
My belly rumbled as a lady with blond hair tightly rolled into a neat bun swept in, carrying a large pot. She ladled a steaming bowl of pumpkin soup in front of each of us.
Katrina linked hands with Robert, and Marg linked with Bob and Ethan’s and— Oh shit!
Ethan reached for my hand, and I had no choice but to take it. His palm felt like touching silk. A shock wave reverberated up my arm. Everything sprung to life, my skin tingled, and my heart pitter-pattered.
Katrina said a prayer, but I couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in my head.
Ethan had his head down, his eyes closed, his thick hair tumbling across his forehead.
The tingling increased, rushing through my veins, my stomach, between my thighs.
I wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, to stare into those eyes as he slipped inside.
He cracked open his eyes and met my gaze. His irises were darker than ordinary, the look was intense, sensual even . . .
My heart did a one-eighty in my chest and, oh my lord, a dampness rose between my legs. Feeling horrified and embarrassed, I jerked my hand away as everyone uttered amen.
I shifted in my seat, swallowed heavily, and picked up my spoon as everyone began to eat. There was no way I would be another notch on his proverbial belt.
The soup was good. I tried to distract myself by concentrating on the sweet taste rolling down my throat.
“This is delicious,” I said, my voice sounding oddly raspy to my own ears.
“It’s an old family recipe, and Dorothy is an excellent cook.” Katrina smiled.
“Are you planning on staying in Church Heights, Amy?” Robert asked between spoonfuls.
“I’m not sure—I think so. For a little while anyway. I like it here.”
“That’s good. We could do with a few young ones moving in, rather than moving out,” Robert responded.
“It’s been a tough few years,” Katrina explained. “There aren’t many jobs here, and a lot of our young people have left.”
“How long have you lived here for?” I asked.
“All our lives. We come from some of the original families that first arrived here. It used to be a thriving town, but when a major bank went under, people just packed up and left. Bob and Marg came about six years ago, and Ethan, you came about four years ago?” He nodded in response. “It’s always lovely to have newcomers.”
After a moment of comfortable silence, I asked the question that had lingered in the back of my mind since I’d first seen the missing posters. “I heard about the hikers who’ve gone missing from time to time. Do you know what happened to any of them?”
Everyone stopped, as if I’d pressed pause on a TV remote, and stared at me. Except for Bob—his eyes gleamed with a peculiar excitement.
“There is a theory.” Bob sucked his spoon clean and laid it down.
The others recovered and came back to life. Ethan and I exchanged knowing glances. We both knew this story might take a while. Bob loved to talk, and like the books he devoured, he loved details.
“It’s quite the story.” He removed his glasses and polished them on his shirtfront, then placed them back on, like he needed to see better to tell the tale.
“Keep it to the summary, Bob,” Marg piped in, with a lighthearted, condescending pat on his arm.
“Legend has it, about five hundred years ago, in 1502—actually I think it was . . . I’m not quite sure . . .” Bob looked skyward, seeking the detail somewhere in the layers of his memories.
“Bob!” Marg exclaimed with an eye roll. “Summary, remember?”
“Oh, right. Right you are, dear.” He nodded at her, then swung back to the table.
“Where was I?” He scratched his head and his glasses slipped to the end of his nose.
“Yes, that’s right. Not long after the first white settlers arrived, a teenage boy from a founding family wandered deep into the mountains and became lost. The whole town searched for him for days before they finally decided he must be dead. ”
He paused, scanned the group for dramatic effect, and pushed his wayward glasses back up. I wondered why he didn’t buy ones that actually fit.
“His parents mourned him. They built a memorial for his loss. About a month later, the boy walked back into the village in remarkably good health. He told a story of how he’d fallen down a deep crevasse and had broken his leg.
He said he survived by sheltering in a cave and drinking a strange glowing blue water that sat deep inside it.
He said not only did the water fix his leg, but except for a few berries, he didn’t eat the whole time he was in there and eventually he managed to climb out.
His father lashed his back ten times, believing he was lying.
” He paused for a long beat, seemingly upset by the fable.
“Lying back then was considered a sin, unlike today,” he added, raising his eyebrows.
“The village children teased him relentlessly about it. He was constantly bullied and beaten. A few months later, he had enough of the torment, and in a moment of rage he turned on his attackers, a group of four boys. One ended up dead and the rest were badly injured. Feeling deeply remorseful and knowing he’d be in a world of trouble, he fled into the hills, never to be seen again. ”
“What happened to him?” I asked, certain the story was made up, but Bob’s enthusiasm for it was contagious.
He picked up his spoon and took a mouthful of soup, swallowing noisily before he spoke.
“No one knows. Some say he went to live with the Native American tribes, and others say he died, freezing on the mountainside.” Bob leaned forward, peering up at me from under his glasses with all the sincerity of an excellent storyteller.
“It is said that his ghost lives on that hill, and anyone who dares go there never returns.”
“Of course,” Marg said, with a wry smile at her enthusiastic husband. “It’s just a made-up story by bored folk, looking to explain the disappearances of the hikers.”
“The mountains can be dangerous, Amy,” Katrina said, resting her spoon in the soup bowl.
“They are vast. They stretch on for thousands of miles, and there are bears, hidden holes, steep cliffs, and sudden weather changes. It’s inevitable that from time to time, people are going to get hurt or go missing.
” She dropped her eyes to the table and exhaled.
Robert reached across and squeezed her arm.
She glanced up at him with a look of appreciation and took a sip of wine.
Dorothy removed our bowls and came back with a large tray of roasted beef and vegetables.
“Here, let me.” Ethan stood, taking the heavy tray from her hands. “Can I do the honors?” Ethan directed his comment to Katrina.
Katrina waved her hand casually. “Of course, Ethan, thank you.”
I didn’t know how to tell Katrina I didn’t eat meat; I didn’t want to be rude.
I fiddled with my ring. Perhaps I’d just leave it on my plate, or maybe I could subtly flip it across to Ethan’s plate.
It was the dilemma I always felt when I ate at another person’s house, not wanting to inconvenience anyone with my dietary habits or make them feel awkward.
Dorothy sat plates full of steaming vegetables down the center of the table: corn, carrots, pumpkin, and potatoes—both roasted and mashed.
Ethan dished out a plate with a few slices of meat to everyone, then he handed me an empty plate with a knowing smile.
How he knew I was vegetarian I had no idea.
I’d never eaten with him—or with anyone else for that matter—but I was grateful for the save.
“I’m sorry, Amy, I was unaware you don’t eat meat,” Katrina said, spooning potatoes onto her plate. Everyone else was helping themselves to various vegetables. I grabbed the dish of carrots, spooned some onto my plate, and passed it to Ethan.
“Wow, surely not something the great Katrina Tolle doesn’t know,” Robert said, winking at her.