Adirondack Audacity Page 11

  The blood shot eyes glare at me, he lifts higher, the toes of my boots fail to touch the ground, I’m held pinned against his unwashed body.

  “Who is out there?” Vic yells, pushing away the branches obstructing his view. “What the fuck!” he exclaims staring in disbelief at the sight before him. He tries jumping over the entangling branches and only succeeds in tripping and falling face first in the dirt.

  Gasping for breath, he hollers, “Put her down! What the hell is the matter with you!” With his free hand the man whips a hatchet out of his belt pointing the blade at Vic. I whimper, daring not to breath or move.

  “Okay, mister, let’s…slow down here.” Vic stands up slowly, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “We were wrong to intrude on your privacy. Why don’t you put down that hatchet and we’ll fix your house. I’m real sorry, truly I am. Please don’t hurt her.”

  To our shock and amazement the man starts rocking back and forth on his heels with a loud booming laugh, his entire body shakes, causing me to bob up and down like a fish struggling at the end of a fishing line.

  “Ahaa, got you.” He says, placing me on the ground, releasing his grip. I dive behind Vic, clinging to his shirt, peering around his back, staring at the apparition before us. I don’t know if I have ever been so frightened in my life.

  “I wouldn’t hurt the little lady. I was just having a little fun with you. I don’t receive many callers up on the mountain. And certainly none as pretty as this damsel.” His voice hoarse and raspy from disuse but his words have a cultured, well pronounced clip to them. He obviously has some education.

  “Vic, get us out of here,” my voice squeaks as I burrow my hands into the fabric of his shirt.

  I feel his chest heave as he takes a deep breath, attempting to communicate with the huge man. “Hi, my name is Vic and this is Ellen. We work at the camp down on Lake Cascade. I’m real sorry about the leaf hut, we will fix it and be on our way. No harm done, right?”

  Raising his arm, our “host” flings the hatch at a tree behind us, the razor sharp head embedding in the tree trunk. I feel Vic’s muscles tense under my hands, I bury my head against his back praying….Hail

  Mary……wacko…….full of grace…..nut case…..the Lord is with thee…..lunatic, ………Blessed art thou amongst women….. clinically insane……and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus……..Please Jesus, save us……

  “What if I say no?” He glowers down at us.

  “If we don’t return to camp by dinner time, everyone will wonder what happened to us. The camp director will call the police and search parties will be sent out. You don’t want anyone to find your camp, do you?”

  “Do you have food in those packs?” His eyes wander greedily over our backpacks.

  “Yeah, sure,” Vic leans over scooping up the packs handing them to the man. “You’re welcome to them. We have sandwiches, apples, cookies and a couple cans of soda. Even beer.”

  “Coke?” he asks, unzipping the pack, eager to examine the contents.

  Pepsi, Vic shrugs his shoulders. “Almost the same.”

  “Not really,” the man mutters in disappointment, and then brightens as he holds up the beer cans. “The beer makes up for not having Coke.”

  “Here’s the deal,” the giant offers sitting down on a rock placing the packs between his legs. “You share your food with me, we fix my shelter and you go on your way. I’m tired of eating deer meat and opossum. God, those opossum are stupid creatures. Deal?” He extends his filthy hand for us to shake, sealing the agreement.

  Vic grasps the hand with a firm grip while I snake one hand out and shake his finger, making as minimal contact as possible. One would think with all the water and lakes in the Adirondacks the man could find one to bathe in.

  “Let’s eat first, my name is Jolib Freeport,” he hands us our backpacks as a gesture of good will. “You find the food.” We dig into our packs as Jolib licks his lips in anticipation.

  “Here,” I say, arranging the sandwiches and fruit in front of him, seeing how desperate he is for the food. He is tall and lean, and looks half starved. “You eat this, we had a large breakfast and dinner will be waiting for us when we return. Please enjoy this as our way of apologizing for disrupting your camp.”

  Under my breath I hiss at Vic, “I told you we had no business snooping around here.” He lifts his eyebrows, jerking his head in the direction of Jolib, warning me to be quiet.

  “Are you sure?” Jolib hesitates for only a moment before grabbing a sandwich, eating half of it in one bite. What’s the name of that camp you work at again?” His mouth is crammed full of sandwich.

  “Camp High Point at the Cascade,” Vic answers, sitting cross-legged on the ground a little too close to the giant for comfort. His curiosity will be the death of us yet.

  “Ah, the fancy one, eh?”

  “Yeah, some of the kids are pretty wealthy.”

  “I went there as a kid.” A supercilious grin spreads across his face.

  “Get out!” I exclaim. The words rush out of my mouth in shock over this announcement. I immediately regret them as he turns glaring at me with those bloodshot eyes.

  “Yes, my dear, I was not always a bum living off the land.” He takes another bite of sandwich. “My family built one of the finest Great Camps around here. My grandfather was William George Freeport. Did you ever hear of him?”

  Of course we recognized the name, anyone who knows anything about Adirondack history has heard of William George Freeport. He was a lumber baron, logging the Adirondacks in the late 1800’s. To this day his name is a dirty word to environmentalists for his clear cutting of the forest.

  “Sure,” Vic and I answer. We nod our heads in agreement, hungry for the rest of the story.

  “Well,” Jolib says, his eyes getting a faraway look as he warms to the subject. “My grandfather along with J.P. Aster and Durant turned the Adirondacks into a playground for the wealthy.” The can of soda opens with a squirt; we watch his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Ahh,” he says wiping his mouth on a ragged shirtsleeve. “I do miss some things about civilization. Water and herbal tea just aren’t Coke.”

  “Pepsi.”

  “Whatever.”

  Spellbound, we listen as the man continues his story. Common sense tells us to get the hell out of here, screaming our heads off all the way down the mountain for special effect……but no, we just sit there

  fascinated…..with a hatchet buried in a tree behind our heads.

  “If there is anything I’ve missed, it’s an ice cold Coke, the downfall of growing up in the Pepsi generation,” he chuckles. “Anyway, back to my story. My family had money, great gobs of money until, well, until…..never mind, something bad. I didn’t understand it before but I sure as hell do now. Bad investments, alcoholism, suicide, I was born wealthy but now I live as a hermit. I prefer my own company. But after today it won’t matter anymore.” He looks at us and throws back his head to laugh uproariously at some private joke. “Here, I have a little present for you.”

  “No, no, it’s not necessary.” I protest, my mind shuddering at the thought of some filth riddled object coming from him.

  “I insist,” he raises a hand to still my protests. “It’s impolite to refuse a gift from your host.” He steps into the lean-to and begins rummaging through a wooden box hidden under a pile of pelts. “Here she is,” he holds a small object up to the light, admiring the glittering display of color in the sun. “She is so beautiful,” he says wistfully. “I hate to part with her, but I must.” Vic and I glance at each other, shrugging our shoulders in puzzlement. What does he have in his hand? She?

  We gasp in surprise as he turns to us holding a dazzling diamond broach. The sun reflects off the multicolored gems set in a circular starburst. The broach looks like a miniature eruption of fireworks resting in his hand, glittering in the afternoon sun.

  “I want you to have it.” He holds the broach.

  “Oh
hhh,” I say in a whoosh of breath. “I..I… couldn’t take that. It looks far too valuable.”

  “Really, sir.” Vic interjects. “It’s not necessary. Thank you, but Elle is right. You must keep it. It looks like an antique.”

  “It belonged to my grandmother. My grandfather had it commissioned for her. It just makes me sad to look at now. It reminds me of a life gone by. I don’t want it. The minute I saw this beautiful young lady, I knew it belonged with her.”

  I look at Vic with desperation, I can’t accept this broach. The man is crazy. I start to protest again, “Jolib, this is very generous of you, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting such a g…” Before I can finish my sentence, he roars, shoving the broach in my face. “You will take it. Do you hear me?” Spittle comes flying out of his massive beard as he leans in closer to me. “Take it and leave now. Do as I say before I get angry.”

  Good Lord. I shrink away from him in fear. Before I get angry?…this isn’t angry? I’d hate to see him on a bad day.

  “Yeah, sure, it’s okay. We’ll take it.” Vic reaches over to take the broach. “Watch, I’ll wrap it up in this bandana to keep it safe.” Vic places the broach in his bandana, starts to opens his backpack with elaborate care when Jolib roars again. “No! It’s not for you. She has to take it. Put it in her pack.” He gestures wildly at my pack. I grab the broach from Vic’s hand and tuck it between the folds of my sweatshirt.

  “Is this all right?”

  “Yes, now go, I’m sick of you. Leave my camp.”

  “We didn’t help fix the hut.”

  “I don’t care….just go!”

  A second invitation wasn’t necessary. We practically trip over ourselves, leaving in haste, literally running half way down the mountain before stopping to catch our breath.

  “What the hell was that?” Vic asks bent over double, gasping for air.

  “I don’t know, but I never want to see it again.” My heart hammering against my ribcage, lungs on fire, and my legs feel like rubber.

  “That guy’s nuts.”

  “That’s an understatement.” I glance over my shoulder, ears perked for any sight or sound of him following us. “I’m going to have nightmares for a month. A shower, I need a shower. Hot water, lots of soap and more hot water…..Ugh! He was disgusting.”

  “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to wait around here in case he decides to follow us.”

  “I’m already gone.” I hoist myself up, ignoring the burning sensation in my chest. Sheer will forces my legs down the trail. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life…..and I’ve been scared before.

  …

  The episode with Jolib and the broach was eclipsed by the near tragedy that greeted us back at camp. One of the six-year old boys almost drowned in our absence. The lifeguard on duty was distracted by some older kids fighting in the deep end and he missed the younger child wade out over his head. Thankfully Burt was near the beach conducting a pond study with a group and noticed the child struggling in the water. The irony is……Burt can’t swim a stroke. On kayak trips he has on so many lifejackets he looks like the Michelin Man. The little boy wasn’t in very deep water so Burt was able to pull him to shore and started CPR. A 911 call was placed and the child taken to the local hospital for evaluation. The mood at dinner was somber. Morris reported the little boy was in good condition, spending the night in the hospital for observation until his parents arrived. Launching a full investigation, Morris plans to understand how this accident happened and ways to prevent future incidents.

  Vic is devastated. When Sean, the head lifeguard returned to college early, Vic was appointed head lifeguard for the remainder of the summer. In this position he felt it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of each camper in the water. His skin visibly pale under his summer tan, he refused dinner, just sitting with a cup of coffee in his hand. The muscles in his jaw twitching as Morris reviewed the water safety rules, admonishing the counselors to realize our grave responsibility to the campers left in our charge.

  Later that night, I empty my backpack and the broach falls to the floor. The sight of it makes me shudder, recalling the events of this horrible day. I want to throw it out the window, but it looks expensive and antique. So I shove it in the back of my dresser drawer, out of sight and out of mind. Good riddance.

  Chapter 13 A Night Under the Stars The Perseid meteor shower occurs every year on or about the 11th of August, on nights when the earth’s orbit passes through a band of space debris that comes too close to the sun. Each piece of debris is hardly bigger than a speck of dust, but when entering into the earth’s atmosphere, it’s transformed into a dazzling arc of light called a meteor or shooting star and then disappears.

  Vic and I planned to hike up the mountain ridge and watch the meteor shower from a clearing near the top. So when the ping, ping, of small pebbles hits the cabin screen, I’m ready to go.

  “Ella, Ella, my mia bella, won’t you come out and play?” floats through the open window to my waiting ears. Ping, ping! “Come on, Elle, I feel like “Chicken Little” out here with the sky falling. The stars are incredible.” His voice edged in impatience. Already dressed, I clattered down the steps and round the corner of the cabin where I’m swept into his arms. He spins me around in a circle, my feet fanning out like a carousal in motion. Placing me breathless on my feet, his lips capture mine.

  “Mia, mia, bella,” he murmurs between kisses. “Why?” I pause to catch my breath, my feet barely touching the ground. “Why do you always call me, mia bella, isn’t that Italian or something? You speak Spanish.” I question him, softly peppering kisses up and down his face.

  “Because Elle, Ellen, Ella,” he laughs. “I just like the way it sounds, you’re my Ella Bella, querida.” He runs his hands down, pressing the length of my body against him.

  “Come on.” he says, leading me down the path. Tucked under his arm is an old green sleeping bag, the lining covered with camping scenes highlighted on the red flannel. He found it in the old boathouse along with the canoe. “The stars aren’t going to wait for you, slow poke; the bluff off Little Wolf Point will be a great spot to watch.”

  We walk through the dark forest as the stars overhead play connect-the-dots, forming images of ancient gods and goddesses. The new moon sheds little light to distract from the brilliance of the stars. Our footsteps hush the chorus of chirping crickets as they surrender to silence. Content, we walk in stillness feeling the peace and beauty of the forest night.

  “Almost there,” he helps me up over a fallen log. I trip into his arms, causing us to fall onto the ground in a giggling heap.

  “Shhhhh.”

  “Who are we disturbing?” he asks.

  “Ummmm….crickets?”

  “Really?”

  Coming out of the trees just above the lake, a bluff opens to reveal the heavens dropping down to play with the earth. It’s a beautiful night, cool, fresh and clear. We stop at a small clump of pines, where seductively soft shadows provide a hidden cove, carpeted with skullcap moss, resembling a blanket made of small green stars, an invitation to touch and sink into the arms of the earth. Vic shakes out the sleeping bag to cover the moss and holds out his hand, bowing deeply in a gesture reminiscent of a prince inviting the princess to his humble castle. As a true princess I drop into a low curtsy and step lightly onto the soft carpet as if walking in dainty ballet slippers. I sit down onto the makeshift

  throne……and with one swift tug…….. pull the prince down with me.

  Losing his balance, he tumbles down onto the blanket. I lean over slowly letting my hands run through his hair before resting on his shoulders, my mouth pauses inches from his curved lips, moving to the V of his open shirt. The solid warmth of him beneath my fingertips is intoxicating. I slant my lips over his and slide my tongue inside his mouth and, then he is kissing me back, his tongue exploring, sending delightful shivers down my spine.

  “Ella, mia bella, make a wish upon a falling star,” he murmu
rs in a husky whisper.

  “Not a knock, knock joke?” I nibble at his ear.

  “Nope, a wish.”

  I roll off his solid warmth and stretch out my legs crossing them at the ankles, head propped against his shoulder, watching the explosion of stars. The sky is a blizzard of stars, blurring the perfect darkness of the night. Horizon to horizon arrayed in a misted veil. A fireworks display, silent pops of light streak across the star studded sky, vanishing into thin vapor. If wishes were treasures, the wealth on this night would be untold.

  “Star light, star bright, first million, trillion, stars I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.” I recite the nursery rhyme, adding a little meteor shower twist.

  “What’s your wish?” Vic asks, lifting his head, his fingers trace my face, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “You are so beautiful.”

  “You’re distracting me,” I argue, fighting the spell of his hands and mouth, as overwhelming desire threatens to invade common sense….he presses his body against mine, proof of his masculinity, evidence of his desire. His hand tugs the shirt out of my jeans and slips inexorably upward, causing tingles of anticipation. Trails of fire follow in the wake of his hands on my bare skin. Slowly he unbuttons the shirt leaving my skin bare to the night air as his fingers deftly unhook my bra, removing the offending article of clothing. His hand caresses the softness of my breast causing already hard nipples to throb and burn. His mouth paints a line of fire from my neck down. Using his teeth, tongue and lips, the effect is overwhelming, driving me wild with his touch. As his mouth closes over my breast, hot and warm, I’m spinning out of control with desire under the flood of shooting stars.

  “What do you wish for Elle?” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice laden with desire.

  I reach up to clasp his handsome face and kiss him gently, pouring all the love I feel into this one sweet connection. “I want you,” the words are out, gaining a life of their own as the idea pulses, growing in the night air. “Make love to me,” I whisper. His head rears back, and his nostrils flare in disbelief, eyes glitter with a feral light.