Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Roland arrived at the Johnsons’ about a half an hour after midnight.
He parked down the street, even though it would mean slipping through the Johnsons’ backyard and a little bit of extra walking.
It was worth it in order not to meet anyone.
He didn’t want to lose his anonymity, especially not this early in the year.
Judd was counting on him, but he had his own personal goals as well—he was really enjoying the Secret Saint thing.
It made him feel like he had a purpose, and it made him feel happy and good inside to do good for others. He didn’t want to lose that.
There was something about no one knowing who he was that made it extra special.
If everyone knew he was doing it, it just wouldn’t be as fun. The idea of sneaking around and making it happen without people finding out was just too delicious and really worked with his goofy and somewhat silly personality.
He supposed that was the way the youngest always was—a little bit of a baby at times. Although he hated to admit it and wished he could shake that reputation.
Regardless, he parked the truck, grabbed an armful of wood, and started toward the Johnson house.
Their woodpile was off to the side in the front by their outdoor furnace. He stacked the first load of wood and turned to walk back toward his truck, adjusting his ski mask to make sure that it completely covered his face.
He’d even bought different boots than what he normally wore for his Secret Saint gig.
These were driving boots—they had good traction but no ties. He really enjoyed the way they felt on his feet and had been tempted to wear them more often even when he wasn’t in his Secret Saint getup.
No sooner had he thought that than a figure came from out of the blue. He saw it a second before it ran right into him and wood scattered everywhere.
“Umph!” a voice said, and his voice echoed that as he tripped on a piece of wood that had fallen and landed on his butt, his hands behind him, facing the figure who was also on the ground—the one that had knocked him down.
“I’m sorry,” a quiet voice came out of the dark. It was low, but…he couldn’t quite tell if it was a man or a woman.
“No. It was my fault. I was thinking about something and wasn’t paying attention,” he said.
The figure moved, starting to pick up the firewood.
It was dawning on him…was this person also delivering firewood for the Johnson family?
He didn’t recognize the voice, but he wanted to see if he could get them to talk so that maybe he could. On that note, he started gathering up some of the wood around him.
“Excuse me,” he said, reaching across the person, just hoping that they would speak.
“No. Excuse me,” the person said, and then he realized they were reaching for the same piece of firewood, picking it up together, each of them holding onto an end as they both tried to look into each other’s eyes.
But he couldn’t see anything. The person had a cape or cloak on with a deep hood that completely covered their face.
They were wearing gloves, so he couldn’t see anything about their hands, other than they were smaller than his, but were they the size of a woman’s hands? Or just a man who was smaller?
He couldn’t tell whether the body was thin or fat or something in between. The cloak hid everything.
“I’m sorry,” the voice said again, and this time, it sounded like a little bit of humor laced the words.
He could see something funny in this. It was kind of odd that the two of them were delivering firewood, had run into each other, and now they were reaching for the same piece.
“No. I apologize,” he said, making sure to mask his voice as it seemed like the other person was. He hardly thought that someone would wonder whether he was a man or a woman, but he whispered, trying to make it less obvious.
Who could it be? He ran through all the people that he knew in town. As they stood, with the other person letting go of the firewood, allowing him to take it, he realized they were much smaller than he was.
A woman? Or just a short man?
“Please don’t tell anyone you saw me,” the other person said.
“I won’t if you won’t,” Roland said.
The person continued to the woodpile, and he stacked his one piece and then waited.
Without saying anything, the person turned, and they walked back to the back of the house together. Through the darkness, through the yard, slowly and silently. He was very aware of the person beside him, but they didn’t talk.
He realized that the person might not realize that he was bringing firewood too.
Should he pretend to not be? Or should he go to his truck and grab an armful, and let them know that he was in on this too?
“It seems like we both have the same idea,” he finally said, once they were past the Johnsons’ house.
“You’re delivering firewood too?” the careful reply came.
“Yeah. I heard they needed it.”
“Same.”
There was quiet for a moment.
“If I get done first, I’ll help you with yours.”
“Cool,” came the cautious reply. He realized that maybe whoever it was wouldn’t want him to see their vehicle—maybe he would recognize it.
He didn’t think anyone would recognize his. It was an old truck that they used on the farm. Typically it didn’t go off the farm, because it wasn’t inspected. It was just an old farm truck.
But he supposed anyone who had been on the tree farm might have an idea that someone in the McBride family could possibly be the Secret Saint.
That’s probably the only conclusion they would come to.
He decided not to worry about it, because the odds that they would recognize it were highly unlikely.
They didn’t say anything else but separated when they were almost to the street, the other person having parked up the street, while he parked down.
They met again, both of them carrying an armful of wood.
“It’s a nice night for a Secret Saint to be out,” he said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” came that ironic reply. “And that would be…you or me?”
There was humor in the words again that struck Roland. Was it familiar? He wasn’t sure.
He was pretty sure it was a woman though. There was a husky note there that he found…attractive? He wasn’t sure.
He couldn’t be attracted to someone he couldn’t see, right?
Still, as they walked side by side through the side yard, questions kept popping into his head.
“I’ve heard a couple of other people might need help.
Maybe we should compare notes and team up.
” There. It was a bit of relief to actually say it.
After all, there was a part of him that wanted to be competitive, that was a little bit annoyed that this person was finding the same people that he was and doing kind things for them.
But…why not? He would much rather work together than work against someone.
He thought about high school and the competition between Nelly and him.
Nelly had always taken it a lot more seriously than he had, and most of the time, he only tried to beat her just to see how frustrated and angry she got when he won.
It was funny to watch, but he didn’t really enjoy winning.
He enjoyed much more the feeling of camaraderie when two people worked together.
Maybe that was because he came from such a big family, where his siblings and he were always doing things together, and he loved to be included, especially since he was the youngest and often was too young for the things that they were doing.
He hated feeling left out, so working together was something that he always strove for.
One wouldn’t think it to remember the heated competition between Nelly and him all through high school.
And even before that. It probably started about the time of that stupid valentine.
He wished he would never have said anything.
It had made her mad in such a way that she’d never forgotten it.
He was pretty sure that was why she always felt like she needed to one-up him.
He didn’t hate her, but…their competition had been kind of fun in a way. Still, he’d rather work together.
“I don’t know,” the person said, stacking wood alongside him.
They walked back and forth, the work seeming to be a lot easier and go faster now that he was with someone. He liked it.
They chatted softly each time they were past the Johnsons’ house about different people that they knew who needed help, and he really could see the benefits of them working together.
“This is my last load. Do you still have more?” he asked after they had made what felt like a hundred trips back and forth between their pickups and the woodshed.
“I just have a little bit more,” the person said.
“Do you mind if I give you a hand?”
They went and stacked their current load together until they were finished.
The person put the last piece of wood on the huge stack that had appeared in the Johnsons’ yard overnight and put their hands on their hips—at least it looked that way from the way their cloak moved and jutted out at the sides.
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You could rat me out the same as I could do to you.”
“You might recognize my vehicle.”
“You might recognize mine,” he said, although he really wasn’t concerned about that.
“I don’t know. I really enjoy doing this anonymously, and I don’t want anyone to find out who I am.”
“I’m exactly the same. There’s just a certain satisfaction in doing things that people don’t know that you’re doing. And…you just do it for the fun of helping someone, not for the accolades that come along with it. You know?”
“Exactly. There’s just such a deep sense of satisfaction, and I don’t want to lose that.”
“Me either. Tell you what, I know you don’t have any reason to think that I would keep my word, but let’s shake on it. I promise that I will not try to find out your identity, and if by accident I do, it will go no further than me.”
The person looked at him for a bit. He could almost feel their thoughtful stare from the depths of their cloak before they finally nodded their head.
“I guess that’s the best it’s going to get.” They sighed. “I promise the same. That I will not try to find out your identity, and if I do accidentally figure it out, I will not tell a soul.”
They looked at each other, nodded, and then their gloved hands clasped, and they shook.
Normally, he would have taken his glove off, but just in case the person was still wondering whether they were dealing with a man or a woman, or just in case there was some kind of identifying mark on his hand that he didn’t know about, he kept his glove on.
They did the same. And that was it—a camaraderie, a partnership had been born.
He went to their truck and helped with the last of the wood as they chatted together.
He wasn’t sure whether they had agreed to help each other or just not to tell on each other.
As they finished up, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.
They talked about other people who needed help and carefully discussed things—carefully as in he tried not to say anything that would give away any of his sources or any of the identities of anyone that he talked to.
In other words, he couldn’t mention that he had heard this at a family gathering.
He had to skirt around the truth, which did not sit well with him.
She, he was pretty sure it was a she, seemed to be equally careful and equally uncomfortable.
As they walked back away after stacking the last bit of wood, they turned together, almost as if they had decided to, and stood looking at the night’s work. It was a nice, large stack of wood that would definitely see the family through December, although he had plans to bring more.
But the person with him didn’t say anything more about their plans, and he didn’t want to tip his hand either.
“All right, I guess that was a pretty good night.”
“I guess so,” she said as the two of them turned around, walking together through the yard one last time.
He was kind of surprised how well they had worked together.
And how at ease he had felt, and he had a grudging respect for their planning and execution.
He ought to know that it wasn’t easy to anonymously get an entire load of firewood and somehow arrive at someone’s house at midnight without anyone else knowing.
He assumed that the other person had just as much crafty manipulation as he had. He grudgingly admired them.
“Well, it was good to meet you, I guess.”
“Same,” the person said, their head seeming to tilt under the cloak. “I guess…this is goodbye.”
“I suppose it is.”
He wanted to say something, but…he wasn’t sure how they felt and didn’t want to propose something only to be left out in the cold.
“I’d say try to be more careful and not run into anyone in the middle of the night.”
“I’d say the same thing to you.”
They laughed a little, and then the other person put up their arm, and the cloak fell back a bit.
That slender arm could almost only belong to a woman.
But the wave was a quick one, and he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“Be safe,” the other person said.
“Same to you,” he said, and after another last glance at each other, they both turned and walked away.
Who could that be?