“Let me guess, the soldiers pissed off the Native Americans?”
“Royally. They claimed their land, and their food, and their women.”
I sigh.
Leo says, “The Native Americans attacked and destroyed all six forts.”
Good. “How long before Roanoke was this?”
“About twenty years. And after that, the Spanish didn’t venture this far north again.”
“Thus opening the way for the English.”
Leo nods and smiles.
Maybe I’m worthy of conversing with an intellectual after all.
I wipe my crumb-dusted hands on my jeans while Leo packs away our water bottles. Insisting I stay put, he hops to the ground. I could easily get down by myself, but he’s looking up at me with those beautiful brown eyes, waiting to help me. So I let him. I slide off the fallen tree and right into his arms. He holds me until I’m steady and then for a moment more—until I’m no longer aware ofanything but his body in front of me and the trunk at my back. We’re perfectly positioned for a kiss, and I’m appalled to realize that I want it. I think Leo does too, because his eyes dilate before he clenches his jaw and lets go of me—like I’m on fire.
He swipes his backpack off the ground and heads up the path. I follow in silence, willing my wayward imagination back into line. He’s just a friend.
Just a friend, just a friend, just a friend.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An hour later,after following the twisting path back down to the river, we find ourselves walking in a sunken ditch that, according to Leo, once held train tracks to the mill. Asawmill, not the old-timey grain mill I’d been picturing, complete with water wheel.
Between the trees, I catch glimpses of colors that can’t possibly be natural. Nothing in these woods would be magenta, orange, and lime green, especially not in November. Leo steps off the trail and up onto a slope covered in fallen leaves.
“Come on. We’ve found the town.” He turns back, smiles, and holds out a gloved hand.
I take it, grateful for his sturdiness when the dry leaves threaten to pull my feet out from under me. As we crest the steep hill, a scene appears before us. Crumbling stone and brick structures huddle amongst the trees as though they were underbrush. Inching closer, I see that the forest has claimed them. Moss covers wall-less foundations in a blanket of bright green, while yellowing vines weave their way around dilapidated chimneys. Anything wood must’ve long ago decayed, allowing tall trees to stand defiantly in what might have been kitchens and living rooms.
Someone has scribbled amateurish graffiti on the largest, flattest surfaces using the garish colors that caught my eye from the path. I grew up a stone’s throw from Washington, D.C.; I’m not against graffiti. But here, where nature has overtaken what man has made, it’s out of place. And eery.
I wander over to a sprawling foundation and walk along its walls. Was this all one house? It’s huge. I suppose it could’ve been the mill owner’s. He would have certainly been the richest guy in town. Or maybe it was some sort of community building. A hall or a meeting house? A general store? I doubt there’s ever been an official excavation of this town. It’s not a significant enough historic site.
Leo joins me and we stroll from chimney to chimney, foundation to foundation, speculating about what each building might’ve been. Family homes? Bunkhouses for the unmarried men?
“I wonder if this was a church,” he says as we come upon a long, narrow foundation. Unlike the others, this one boasts a stone floor. Weeds and saplings sprout between the carefully laid slate tiles. We step over the shallow wall and into the building. Inside, it feels like we’re standing in an unfilled swimming pool.
At the far end, the stone floor looks higher. As we approach, Leo sweeps away the leaves with a booted foot, revealing a set of shallow steps. “Definitely a church.”
So far, in the other buildings, I haven’t felt anything too unsettling. But here in the church, a heaviness greets me. I climb the crumbling steps to the altar, hugging myself as the cold forest wind slices through my coat, and fingers of melancholy caress my senses.
Down in the nave, Leo watches me, hands on his hips. He’s shamelessly following my every move. Feeling self-conscious, I turn away. When I dare to look at him again, I find him outside the building, kicking through the leaves alongside the wall.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Trying to see if there’s a graveyard.”
I bite my lip as I gaze out over the town. “It could be anywhere.” The farther away, the better, as far as I’m concerned.
“Yeah, I don’t see any signs of one.” His eyes meet mine. “But I betyoucould find it.”
I’d rather not.
As he comes closer, I shake my head, my stomach somersaulting.
