Stony River (81 page)

Unexpectedly Jillian and Ralf were there, wanting to show Sevana that their friendship extended beyond the little circle that had been theirs in Lethbridge. Jillian had an engagement ring with a miniscule diamond on her finger—Ralf having sat down one night to calculate his portfolio of savings, stocks, bonds and investments, and making the unanticipated discovery that he was worth several hundred thousand and presumably in adequate financial position to support at least a working wife…at the exact same time Jillian had found courage to give up her independence to become one. To propose, Ralf had slipped Jillian a phony newspaper with the front-page headline:
SURPRISED DESIGN EDITOR LEARNS HANDSOME REPORTER DESIRES MATRIMONY
—the offer of which, after the flabbergasted editor finished pummeling the conceited reporter with the rolled-up paper, was speedily and unqualifiedly accepted. Jillian’s gift to Joel and Sevana was a beautiful Yukonesque painting of a wolf howling at the moon.

Clarence was there, smiling and dipping his head whenever somebody spoke to him. The church family who had boarded Flint all winter was there, along with practically the entire congregation—including the good women who’d been so determined to marry Joel off, successful at last.

There was a generous scattering of townsfolk with no particular association to either the bride or groom, for when word spread that Fenn and Melanie would be appearing as best man and maid of honor at Sevana’s wedding, more than a few souls had to see for themselves the transformation of the local solitary, and the townsgirl he’d found to melt his stony heart.

The old backwoodsman was there—whether by invitation or by merely wandering in the open door, no one made it a point to inquire. He sat in the back row with his long wisps of white hair combed into a semblance of neatness beneath his felt hat; and his well-mannered dog beside him in the aisle, watching the proceedings out of its spooky, pale-blue eyes.

Mr. and Mrs. Ownbey were not present, but their gift was tangibly so in Joel’s barn: for when Sevana and Joel had gone back to Lethbridge to get her personal belongings and her little flock—plus buy back another five sheep with their new lambs from Mervin Ownbey—that benevolent sheepman had added two more to the bunch with his and Liddy’s sincerest congratulations. Indeed, Mrs. Ownbey had been so beside herself to learn that Sevana had taken her matrimonial advice to heart, that she’d whipped up a sumptuous engagement banquet on the spot—serving them an eight-course dinner featuring fried chicken with mashed potatoes and cream gravy, before bringing out a chiffon cake smothered with fresh strawberries, and sending along a sizable portion of the leftovers should they grow faint on the way home.

They had seen David and Krysta that same trip. They had been overjoyed when Joel and Sevana appeared on their doorstep with their announcement—you’d have thought David was responsible for the whole thing, the way he was gloating. And they had news of their own: Krysta was home from her school term, and they were adopting Talmo and Sascha. They hoped to visit Joel and Sevana soon, but they wouldn’t be able to make the wedding—even though Joel had asked David to stand up with Jarrod Holte in a joint officiation. He had been very honored, but that was the week they were to finalize the adoption and bring the children home for good. There’d been hugs and well-wishes all around; but what had affected Sevana most was looking into David’s eyes as he said goodbye to her, and thinking how kind he was and how he had helped her. “God be with you, Sevana,” he’d said, taking her hands in his. “He will be,” she answered, and in her face was a silent thank you.

Sevana was too dazed with happiness to take much note of the reception that followed in the churchyard under the pines. Only a few things stood out to her. One was the sight of Joel sitting on a picnic bench writing something in his Bible—the one she’d given back to him on the condition that they could go over the underlined verses together in the pasture that summer. When she’d peered over his shoulder, he’d grinned and let her see. He’d added her name beside his in the family tree: Sevana Selwyn Wilder. The other was seeing the backwoodsman eating heartily of the informal luncheon and slipping some to his collie, so that Sevana made a point to ask him if he could possibly take home anything that was left over, so she wouldn’t have to attend to it. She didn’t know if he remembered her from that first day, but she would always remember him—having an inclination to regard him in the light of a grizzled old prophet of the Divine.

Later, after the festivities were over and Mr. Wilder had been delivered back to his house, Sevana and Joel drove to Fenn’s to pick up a few remaining items of Sevana’s and get the present Fenn had given them, even though he wasn’t currently at home—he and Mel having taken the rest of the day to go fishing. That last month, while Sevana was living back on the homestead after Mr. Wilder had taken over her house, Fenn had not failed to hear her remark wistfully more than once that if she could afford it, she would go back to Lethbridge and buy all the sheep left unsold. It seemed she had formed a strong attachment to the whole flock, and disliked to think of any of them banished from their beloved mountain home. So Fenn had gone after them under the guise of a business trip just two days before the wedding. Of course he couldn’t keep it a secret once he’d gotten home. Melanie had tied red bows around their necks, and Sevana almost fainted the first time she went in the barn and saw the six of them. Now Joel loaded them up to take them home.

At the turnaround he opened the back to let the sheep out of the truck. “Lead them up, shepherdess,” he said with a grin.

So while Joel finished making up his pack, Sevana started up the trail. At first the sheep followed her obediently enough, but recognizing where they were going, they soon became impatient—first crowding her heels and then passing her altogether, so she had to hurry after them.

“Whoa, Shadow!” she called, to no effect. “Woodrush, wait up!” For all the time she’d spent around them, she realized she didn’t know how to manage sheep. It struck her that she wasn’t a true shepherdess, nor even a real mountain girl. She was only an ingraft—not native to that life, but adapted to it out of love for it. She gave up trying to control the runaways and let them outpace her by a good distance up the trail.

Arriving at the promontory, she let out the rest of the flock and Flint for an overdue grazing. They were scattering over the grass when Joel rounded the crest of the hill. He was walking free and easy, the wilderness range at his back, the cabin and Sevana before him—a look of pure happiness on his face. He was the true man of the mountains, Sevana thought, a man in his environment. She ran to him, and he caught her in his arms and swung her around—the entire flock frisking over to join the fun. “Here we are, all of us together,” he said, his dark eyes laughing down at her.

“And it couldn’t be better,” she added.

“No—we’re even home in time for sunset.”

Sevana looked across to the summits still shining in the sun, although there was a deepening hue to their broad snowfields. An overwhelming longing for all the familiar things they’d shared last summer seized her, and suddenly there was nothing more she wanted than to hear him play his violin.

“Would you play your mountain song?” she begged. For he had not played it since he’d been home—his fingers so stiff that she’d spent repeated hours rubbing warm bear fat into the inflexible joints, until their agility had begun to return. Only a few days ago had he taken out his fiddle and played a medley to prove her work successful.

He smiled, for he was remembering, too. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Sevana? But here we are again, just as a year ago. Of course I’ll play it—if I can still remember how, after all these months away.”

He brought out his violin, and Sevana sat by him on the edge of the porch while he tuned it. When he drew up the bow, the vibrant notes sang into the evening air.

There was so much for Sevana to take note of: the beauty of Joel’s keen eyes as they searched out the far-lying lands, his fingers moving across the strings almost as nimbly as before, the sheep intent on their native pasturage, and the glacier-carved peaks beginning to flame. She told herself this was her life now—she did not have to leave it or look on it from a distance anymore.

When the song was finished, Joel laid the violin across his knee and put his arm around her. Together they watched the alpenfire casting its glow across the valley to the cabin steps where they sat in its rose-red light.

Sevana drew in a deep breath of content. “The mountains are smiling down on us tonight.”

“It does seem so, doesn’t it?” Joel agreed.

“They no longer fill me with restlessness, or call me away to an unknown destiny,” she added thoughtfully. “They only look down in peace, as if to say, ‘You are home.’”

“And so you are, Sevana,” Joel said, drawing her closer to his side.

The End