Fabulous Creature (22 page)

Tiptoeing back up the stairs, James went to the door and listened. The creaking had stopped. Raising his fist, he poised it for a firm, sharp rap, thought better of it, and was quietly gathering up his gear, when a voice from the foot of the stairs said, “What are
you
doing here?”

It was Griffin. It really was Griffin, dirty and tousled and dressed in torn jeans and a baggy old flannel shirt. Her face seemed thinner and her dark-fringed eyes more enormous, and she returned James’ smile with a stare as warily distrustful as a trapped animal’s.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I came to help you.”

“To help me? How did you know I was here?”

“I read in the paper that you’d disappeared and I thought you’d probably come back here. To help the deer. So I decided to see if I could help you.”

There was no thaw in the cold suspicious stare. “Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. Nobody.”

She lowered her head and looked at him from shadowed eyes.

“Honestly. No one knows except my friend, Max, and he won’t tell. He helped me set it up so no one will even know I’m gone until Monday.” He briefly explained the scheme, and she listened intently; but when he finished, she was still distant and watchful. “Honestly, Griffin,” he repeated. “I came to help. You and the deer.”

She was nodding doubtfully when suddenly her eyes widened and she pointed at his backpack. “What’s in there?”

“What isn’t? Enough provisions for a full infantry battalion.”

“Food?” she asked, and the way she swallowed as she said it told the story. A few moments later they were sitting on the top step of the veranda, and James was digging fruit and cheese and crackers and a variety of fancy survival mixes out of his pack. Griffin was eating as if she were starving. It turned out she very nearly was.

Between mouthfuls she told him how she’d left school with only a sleeping bag stuffed into a large shopping bag, because a suitcase or backpack would have given her away. That had been on Tuesday; and that first day, before anyone knew she was missing, she’d dared to buy some food in bus stations and grocery stores; but after that she’d eaten very little until yesterday afternoon when she broke into the Willowby cabin.

“Broke in,” James said. “How?”

“The little porthole window that doesn’t have a shutter,” she said.

“But it doesn’t open.”

“I know. I broke it and took out all the glass. And then I squeezed through. I had to do it because I was so hungry and I didn’t dare go to The Camp or New Moon.”

“But there wasn’t much food in there, was there? I remember my mother saying Dr. Willowby didn’t want us to leave anything that mice might get into.”

“There were a few canned things. Peas and beans and one can of pineapple. Most of it’s gone now. When you get back, will you tell Dr. Willowby that I’ll pay for everything? The food and the window?”

She went on eating then, and James ate too. When they were finished, she thanked him for the food and smiled for the first time; but when he asked her about her plans, the curtain came down again. Her eyes went shallow and shielded and her voice tightened as she asked him why he wanted to know.

“Because I want to help. I want to save the deer. I want…”

But he could see she wasn’t buying it. Wasn’t believing a word he said. Was probably suspecting him of trying to find out what she was planning so he could report to the Jarretts. Grabbing her shoulders he shook her hard. “Goddamn it, Griffin. You’ve got to believe me: I didn’t mean to betray the stag. You’ve got to listen to me.”

She did listen then as he went through the whole stupid, sordid thing. All about how he’d fallen for Diane and how she’d used him and lied to him. But he didn’t spare himself, either. He laid it all out—about how he kept on making excuses for her long after he should have been able to see what was happening, and how he convinced himself that if he could only get her attention away from the other guy for a little while, he’d be able to get her back. He explained how he hadn’t really meant to tell her where the deer was, and how he had believed her promise never to tell. But even as he told it, he could see that there was no way he could make it understandable, because it wasn’t. Even while he was telling it, he knew if he were Griffin he’d never forgive himself.

When he finished, she was staring at him with what looked like intense anger, and he shrugged hopelessly. At least he’d tried. He started to say, “I’m sorry,” and found that they were saying the same thing—in unison. “You’re sorry?” he asked. “What are you sorry for?”

“For blaming you. I don’t anymore.” She got to her feet. “I was just going back to the valley. Do you want to come? I’ll show you my plan.”

It took him a minute to shift mental and emotional gears. But it wasn’t the first time that trying to account for Griffin’s thought processes had made him feel like a computer with a few chips missing, so he recovered quickly and said great, that he couldn’t wait to hear about her plan to save the deer. Of course, he was glad to hear that she had a plan, but he wasn’t entirely confident that it would be workable, and he began to feel even more uneasy when he saw the pick-axe.

Just as he had feared, her plan was typically Griffinesque—imaginative, courageous and not very realistic. She was planning to chop away the ledge at the highest point of the cliff trail so there would no longer be any access to the valley. The day before James arrival she’d actually begun work, chopping away at the rock ledge with Dan Willowby’s enormous pickaxe.

“I got that much done yesterday,” she said, pointing to a place where she’d managed to erode away an inch or two of the already dangerously narrow trail. “But it doesn’t go very fast. See.” She held out her hands, palm upwards, exposing rows of angry red blisters.

The shiver that slid down his spine could have been related to the blisters, or to the thought of swinging a pickaxe on that precarious perch. When she asked him if he thought it would work, he hesitated, and then put off saying what he really thought by suggesting that he’d think about it while they went to see the deer.

“I haven’t seen him for a long time,” he said. “Is he all right?”

“He’s wonderful,” Griffin said, and she put down the pickaxe and led the way on across the high trail.

Unlike the slopes around the lake, the sheltered valley was as yet untouched by the approach of winter. The meadow grass was still lushly green, jays screeched in the pines, dragonflies hummed over the creek bed, and the deer came out to meet them, quickly and confidently. Moving through the tall grass with a calm, measured dignity, he came to within a few yards of the boulder before he stopped. James could see the liquid sheen of his large eyes, the flare of his nostrils as he tested the air, and the small oval amulets that still dangled from his antlers, attached by ribbons, limp and faded now, but still faintly red.

James looked at Griffin. Sitting just as she had on that day in August when he had first brought her to see the deer, she hugged her knees against her chest and gazed with wide-fixed eyes—dreaming who-knew-what deer myths and stag legends. Dreams that, like the deer itself, were doomed to die in only two more days. Involuntarily he sighed sharply and heard Griffin’s sigh echoing his. She turned to look at him, her eyes begging for reassurance.”

“Do you think it will work?” she asked. “My plan?”

Feeling that to mention the plan’s difficulties and dangers would only make her more determined he said, “Well, I don’t know. I’m afraid the Jarretts won’t give up that easily. If they can’t get over the trail, they’ll probably just go back and get mountain climbing equipment and try again. And besides, have you thought about what might happen to the deer if you make the trail impassable? He won’t be able to get out either.”

“I know. But couldn’t he just go on living in the valley?”

“I’m not sure. I think he only stays there in the summer and fall.”

She nodded. “Laurel said her uncle told about hearing rumors that skiers had seen a fantastic buck in this area during the winter, but no one ever saw it when the snow was gone. He said he’d always thought it was just a local legend—until Diane found out about the hidden valley.”

“The thing is,” James said, “he probably goes out every year at mating season and stays out during the winter.”

“But it would be better for him to have to stay in the valley all the time than to be shot by the Jarretts,” Griffin said. “At least he’d be alive.”

“Well, maybe. I’m not sure there’d be enough food for him in this little valley in the wintertime. The snow must get very deep here. He might starve to death.”

Griffin looked horror-stricken, and then completely crushed. “But what can we do?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m thinking about it. We’ll do something.”

“But we only have until day after tomorrow,” Griffin said.

“I know,” he said. “But don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”

A
LL THE WAY
back to the cabin they discussed what might be done to stop the Jarretts and save the deer’s life. The possibilities were few. James mentioned his idea about trying to get the deer out of the valley, but Griffin said she’d thought of that, too, and had given it up. She pointed out that even if they were able to get him to leave the valley, he would still have the entire hunting season ahead of him, in an area crawling with other hunters as well as the Jarretts. As it became more and more evident that there was really nothing they could do, Griffin’s suggestions became wilder and less practical-things like shooting at the Jarretts from a high point on the trail as they approached the valley. Not intending to hit anyone, she explained, but only to frighten them off. James’ comment that the Jarretts would very likely shoot back—intending to hit someone—seemed to discourage her very little. When James asked if she had a gun, she said no, but couldn’t he think of a way to get them one? It wasn’t until he had firmly and repeatedly said he couldn’t, that she reluctantly moved on to other possibilities.

By the time they neared the cabin, she was favoring what seemed like a desperate and hopeless last stand. They would go to the narrowest part of the cliff trail, sit down and refuse to move when the Jarretts appeared.

“They wouldn’t be able to get past us, so they’d have to listen to us,” she said. “And maybe we could make them understand why they shouldn’t kill him.”

It sounded like a very precarious version of a sit-down strike, and James didn’t like the idea for several reasons.

“I doubt if they’d listen,” he said.

“Well, then,” she said almost casually but with an odd ring to her voice, “I’ll tell them that if they don’t promise not to kill him, I’ll jump.”

“Griffin.” He grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. She looked as if she actually meant it—calm, but with a light in her eyes that really scared him. He saw then the difference between Griffin’s commitment and his own. He wanted to save the deer for reasons he could explain and others that he couldn’t, and the ones he couldn’t explain were probably the most significant. But even so, he knew there was a limit to his commitment—a point at which he would go no further. Griffin’s reasons were undoubtedly all unexplainable, or at least it wouldn’t occur to her to try; but her commitment was obviously frighteningly close to being unlimited.

“You can’t do that,” he told her. “I won’t go with you; I won’t even try to help anymore unless you promise me you won’t do that.”

She finally promised, but he wasn’t entirely reassured. He would just have to come up with an alternate to the plan for a cliff trail confrontation.

By the time they reached the cabin, James was exhausted, feeling the need for a respite from desperate and hopeless strategies, for sleep, which he had had very little of for several nights, and in particular, for food. Preferably for food that hadn’t been dehydrated, fortified and scientifically prepared for wilderness trail munching. When he mentioned the possibility of a hot meal, Griffin’s troubled frown was replaced by one of her rare high-intensity smiles.

After she had wriggled her way back through the porthole window—a feat that James would never have thought possible—she unlatched the shutters on the kitchen windows, James climbed through, and lunch was underway. The temperamental stove responded to James’ practiced coaxing, and before long they were sitting down to reconstituted pea soup, tuna and noodles and slightly stewed dried fruit. Griffin said she’d never tasted anything as good in her entire life.

With his stomach satisfied, rest and sleep moved into first priority. Three rather sleepless nights and yesterday’s long strenuous hike were catching up with him. Watching Griffin bustling energetically around the sink, he sighed. As soon as she finished cleaning up the kitchen, she would undoubtedly want to get back to plotting and planning. Noticing the long wisps of hair that straggled free from her braid, the muddy smear on her chin and the decidedly grungy appearance of her plaid shirt, he was struck by a sudden inspiration—a scheme that might rechannel her energies long enough for him to get an hour or two of rest.

“How long has it been since you washed your hair?” he asked.

Griffin wiped her hand on her shirt and then reached up to smooth her hair and encounter a small twig that had become entangled in a stringy wisp. “Why?” she asked, looking at the twig.

“Well, it does seem to have collected a bit of debris. Doesn’t it?” he asked. “If you want to make an impression on the Jarretts, if we see them…”

It worked. After firing up the stove again and helping Griffin find a collection of pots and pans and fill them with water, he was able to retire to his old room, stretch out on the bed, and collapse into a coma that must have lasted almost three hours. When he finally emerged, Griffin was sitting on the veranda railing drying her hair. She was wearing one of Dr. Willowby’s enormous bulky knit sweaters, which hung down almost to her knees, and her skin had a freshly washed sheen. Various articles of wet clothing were draped along the railing beside her.

“I took a bath and washed some clothes, too,” she said. “I feel a lot better.”