Down from the Mountain. Barbara Gale
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brush hers as he searched her stricken, blind eyes and tried to promise with words what she could not read in his eyes. “Ellen Candler, nothing, but nothing, is going to happen to you! This is going to be the most boring trip of your life. I’ll be with you every moment of the day. Every move you make. You think you’re sick of me now?” he teased. “See how you feel in a week. Maybe you’re right. In a way, I’m being paid to do a job, but I’ll be good at it, don’t you worry.”
She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the way she was breathing, by the way her hands fluttered, that she was starting to panic. Cursing beneath his breath, David hurried her out into the night. Sweet Jesus, she felt so good in his arms, her delicate frame quivering while he fumbled with the handle. He practically threw her into the car and gunned the engine, to hell with the potholes that had thrown him on his way up.
He felt possessed. The minute he’d laid eyes on Ellen, he’d known she spelled trouble. Only two days and she was taking over his mind, seeping under his skin—her silly tears, her flashing temper, her shy smile. Even her damned perfume was starting to cling to his clothes. He rubbed his pitted cheek to remind himself why he couldn’t have her. Rage was the only safe thing to feel and if he tried, it wouldn’t be so hard to accomplish. All he had to do was look in the mirror.
Ellen wasn’t sure if that was a snarl she heard, but whatever it was made her burrow deeper into her seat. She knew David was deeply upset, but so much of what she said and did angered him. If only he knew how desperate she was. Desperate not to be buried by walls she herself had built and was terrified to tear down.
They drove in silence until Ellen fell asleep and David was finally able to relax. He never realized a body could curl so comfortably across a bench seat—in her sleep, she had made a pillow of his thigh—but she was such a tiny thing, come to think of it. Heading south, he drove another hour, a protective hand on her shoulder. Toward five or so, Ellen stirred and stretched.
“Hey, watch it, princess, that’s my driving arm you’re poking. Unless you want to take over the wheel,” he joked.
Blushing, Ellen rose and tried to finger-comb her hair.
“So, exactly what are the politics of teasing a blind person? Is it a no-no, or what?”
“Jokes would be a novelty.” She smiled in a sleepy haze.
“I just wanted to be sure. Wouldn’t want you to report me to the American Institute of the Blind, or worse, the Civil Liberties Union. And stop playing with your hair. You look fine, and besides—no pun intended—there’s no one here to see, except me. And I don’t count, right?”
“I suppose not,” she agreed vaguely, not wishing to quarrel. Unable to see the pain in David’s eyes. “Where are we?”
“A mile or so out of Floweree, your old hometown, didn’t you say? I’m looking for a gas station. We need to fill up and I’d guess you could use the stretch.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Great Falls, to the airport. We’re not that far.”
Waiting for Ellen to protest, David was surprised when she didn’t. He couldn’t know that Ellen had never flown before and was trying to quell a sudden rise of hysteria. But she wasn’t about to say so. She didn’t want to give him any more ammunition for the faultfinding campaign he seemed to be waging. They finished the drive to the airport in silence, but she couldn’t know how many times he glanced her way.
“Two one-way tickets to Albany, New York,” she heard him say when, having returned the rental car, they had made their way to the airport lobby. Then, with an hour to kill before boarding, David guided Ellen to a nearby restaurant that had just opened its doors. In the rosy morning light of dawn, the strain of traveling was having a pronounced effect on Ellen, and he suspected that the bombardment of strange noises on her ears was also taking its toll. Her lips were white and a web of worry lines had appeared near her eyes. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her into the safety net of his arms. When a noisy lunch trolley rattled by and she buried her face in his jacket, he knew she was near the end of her rope.
“Take it easy, kid. I’m right here,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said, raising her head even while her shoulders sagged beneath his hand.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, alarmed at her pallor. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
“A cup of tea is definitely in order.” She smiled wanly.
David was glad Ellen couldn’t see the waitress stare as she led them to a booth. The woman didn’t know who to stare at first, the beautiful blind girl clutching a fancy wooden cane, or her heavily cloaked companion. If she’d seen his scars, she would have positively gawked, but David’s face, when he ordered breakfast, was carefully hidden by his public persona, sunglasses and a huge felt hat. Though he had lots of hats and tons of sunglasses, his biggest regret was his inability to grow a beard. It would have been such a help, but unfortunately his scars hindered an even growth of facial hair along the right side of his face.
The couple made small talk, desultory and polite, while they waited for their order. David figured Ellen needed time to calm down, catch her breath and get her bearings. He had a hunch she didn’t get out much. And then, they both recognized a mutual cease-fire when they saw one. Besides, he could hardly believe his good fortune, sharing a table with a woman and not having to worry about his appearance.
And Ellen wasn’t just any woman, she was a goddess. The sun rising across the tarmac painted a golden spray across her porcelain face and turned her hair to a Titian halo. David felt like a kid with a box of Cracker Jack, and he’d steeled himself against the revulsion of strangers too many times not to indulge himself now. And Ellen, having no idea what he looked like, was the bonus prize. No, she didn’t know. She would never have been able to hide her knowledge from him, she was such a transparent little thing. Thank God, his father had not revealed his disfigurement. Omitting to tell Ellen about David’s horrendous scars was a gift John would never know he gave his son.
David watched though, with no small amusement, as she shredded her paper napkin all over the table. “Nervous?” he asked, covered her fluttering hands with his own.
“How can you tell?” She smiled weakly. “I keep telling myself to trust you to not leave me stranded mid-journey, but—”
“A good idea, trusting me.”
“Yes, well…” She made no effort to move her hands, savoring instead the soothing warmth they shared. She hardly needed to move her fingers to detect his rough, swollen knuckles. “You know, David,” she said as she turned his hands in hers and lightly explored his palms, “most people let me see them, through touch. Will you let me touch you sometime? Your face, I mean.”
“Hell, no!”
His vehemence surprised her. “Why not? I won’t hurt you. I just flick my fingers over your face, like I’m doing to your hands now. It helps me to form an impression of you, gives me something to work with.”
“Isn’t my lousy temper enough for you to work with?”
“You have something there,” Ellen chuckled. “But I’m serious. It’s what blind people do.”
“I’ll think about it,” David stalled, unable to come up with a reason for refusing.
“Will you? Do you promise? But you must be very handsome to be so vain,” she teased. She was on her second cup of sugary hot tea and feeling calmer.
He paused in the middle of stirring his coffee. “Handsome? Vain?”
“Are you?” she persisted.
“Am I what?”
“Handsome.”
“Lady,” he laughed harshly, “I’m as ugly as sin. Ask anyone.”
Thankfully the huge breakfast they had ordered finally arrived to distract