Frantically, I find a large bush to relieve myself behind, convinced there is no other way. Bodie did the same this morning. At Big Man’s house, there was a chamber pot for cold nights and an outhouse in the summer. But I set my jaw, willing myself to be grateful.
I skulk the distance toward Bodie, fearful of what comes next. The mountain man turns at my approach, eyeing me. I can tell by his movements and actions that he tries not to startle me. “Clean up first? Or herbs?”
“Herbs,” I answer more quickly than I mean to. I know it defies logic. After all, cleanliness is next to godliness, I have read, though Big Man never followed that rule. But even more than personal hygiene or self-respect, I feel desperate to prove my worth to this man. To make him understand that I am useful, so that he thinks twice about hurting or discarding me.
I want him to need me as much as I do him, though I can’t fathom how that might work. His cabin, so fancy and civilized, is the resting spot I require. The threshold from the backwoods to society. Here, I know I can garner strength, tentatively learn about the world beyond Big Man’s cabin, and fortify myself before looking for my people in town. The Universe brought me here for a reason.
But only if Bodie will be patient, giving me the time I need. Knowing enough about the world from reading that nothingcomes for free, I’m determined to become indispensable to him, though he didn’t even know of my existence a handful of hours ago. I need his strength, his protection, his knowledge of the world.
His face looks torn as he nods. “Herbs first.”
Chapter Four
BODIE
The woman needs a bath. She smells like piss and sweat, her face is smeared with dirt, and her impossibly long hair is tangled.
But with her, I must take things slowly. Painfully slowly to build trust. My mind races, wondering who Big Man is. Her father, perhaps? The story about men having demons would almost be funny if my innocent little companion didn’t believe it so thoroughly.
Despite her bedraggled and dirty state, I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s all plump curves, porcelain skin, pink cheeks, and a soft jaw line that begs me to stroke it with a finger. Her lips are the color of roses, full and carved to perfection, and her warm eyes dissect me as we work, her body relaxing as her focus shifts to the herbs.
Although I know much about medicinal plants from Flint, I tease her with foolish recommendations to make her laugh and lower her guard.
I offer her a handful of greens, grunting, “Ginseng?”
“No, Bodie.” She giggles, hands going to her cheeks. “Those are toxic. You would surely be dead if it weren’t for me.”
“Life saved. Thank you.”
She shakes her head. “How long have you lived here?”
“Five years.”
“Then, you are only teasing me. You would have died long ago.”
I chuckle, admiring her pretty face and the flush of her cheeks.
“You know plants,” I observe, doing my best to stay downwind of her. She may be lovely as they come, but she needs a good clean-up.
“Thisis American ginseng,” she says, spreading the leaves for me. “It’s a palmately compound, which means you can identify it by its leaflets radiating out from a central point. See?” She arches an eyebrow. “They’re either elliptic or oblong with serrated edges and pointed tips and three to five leaflets per leaf, arranged in a whorl at the top of the stem. I’m surprised to see this here. My book said they are native to the Appalachian Mountains.” She frowns.
“Flint brought them from the Appalachians. His home.”
“Why do you talk like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
“Few words with lots of emphasis.”
I shrug. “Most people use too many.”
“So what was Flint’s plan for this place?”
“Biodiverse homestead. Wanted more workers. But most despised sweat and isolation.”
Alarm fills her eyes as her mouth works for a moment. I would give anything to know what she’s thinking. “I’m glad it’s just you and me in that case. I don’t like other people, especially not strangers.” I feel heartened by her statement, understanding the unspoken.
“Me, either,” I declare gruffly.
