Behind the Mask (19 page)

When Abbi sensed that he was growing impatient, she attempted to provoke some simple conversation, if only to keep him sitting as long as possible. “How is it that you knew all of the right things to do when I was nearly frozen?”

“Common sense,” he stated.

“But it was more than that, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it was. Something to that effect happened to a friend of mine when we were children.”

“Tell me,” she encouraged.

Cameron looked momentarily hesitant, and then he began to speak with nostalgia in his voice. “I was probably only ten at the time. Some other boys and I were playing near the river, when my . . .” He stopped abruptly, and fear briefly flashed through his eyes. “When one of them pushed a friend of mine into the water. The others thought it was humorous. That’s the way boys are, I suppose.” He chuckled, but Abbi sensed he didn’t find it funny at all.

“He was shivering when I pulled him out. The air wasn’t really all that cold, but the water had been. By the time I got him to my home, the shivering had stopped and he was acting much the way you were when I found you. Fortunately a doctor was already there, because my mother was ill . . . and he told us all the right things to do.”

“And he survived?” Abbi asked.

“Oh yes.” He gave the barest hint of a smile. “He and I have been the best of friends ever since.”

“And what of the other boys?”

“You don’t want to hear about them,” Cameron said, not wanting to say anything that might clue her in to his connections in Horstberg. It was too risky.

Abbi hurried to think of something else to say, not wanting him to move. Her drawing could probably be finished by memory at this point, but she was enjoying his companionship and the openness between them.

“You knew how to set my ankle,” she said. “Did your knowledge on that also come from practical experience?”

Cameron took a moment to come up with a suitable—but cryptic—answer. “I had some minimal medical training related to my work at one time.”

“What kind of work was that?” she asked, and anger briefly flickered in his eyes.

“Nothing worth talking about, I can assure you.”

Abbi easily grasped the hidden message. There were simply things he
wouldn’t
talk about. “I see,” she said, and several minutes passed in silence while she struggled for another topic of conversation. “Is it the seventeenth yet?” she asked, and he turned to face her.

“No. Why?”

“Oh,” she said, knowing well that they were barely into the month, “it’s just that I have an appointment on the seventeenth.”

“You won’t make it.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Abbi felt something pass between them that she could never put into words. In that moment she felt a formless vindication of the dream that had led her there initially. She recalled Georg telling her that God could speak to a person through their feelings. Was He trying to tell her now that in spite of all appearances, her being here was the right thing? As the thought skittered through her mind, the emotion hovering inside of her deepened.

“Is something bothering you?” Cameron asked, startling her. “You look . . . frightened.”

Abbi quickly diverted her attention to the sketch in her hands, not wanting her feelings read. “No,” she said, “I’m fine.”

Cameron watched her closely, knowing she wasn’t. As uncomfortable as it made him to look at the full perspective of this situation, he couldn’t deny the pleasure he found in her presence. For this moment he was willing to throw his convictions aside just to have her companionship and conversation. He feared saying too much about himself, but listening to Abbi talk could be a perfect pastime.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Abbi.”

Abbi looked surprised. And he certainly couldn’t blame her for saying, “I find it difficult to believe that you’d have any interest in what I have to say.”

Cameron looked out the window. “I know I’m moody at best.” He looked at her again. “But right now I’m in the mood to hear you talk.” His voice softened. “Tell me what’s on your mind. Are you thinking of home?”

“No, actually.” She knew it would be impossible to tell him the full extent of her thoughts. They sounded too bizarre in her mind to even consider voicing them.

While Cameron watched her expectantly, wondering what she’d say, he was taken aback by her question. “Do you believe in God, Cameron?”

Abbi saw his eyes harden. “I did once. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?”

“Look at me,” he said. “What have I got that is any indication of God being mindful of
me?”

Abbi wanted to tell him she believed that God had sent her to help him, but she knew he wasn’t ready to hear something that sounded so strange.

When she said nothing, Cameron realized he wasn’t being completely honest. He couldn’t deny his deep belief that God existed, in spite of his present circumstances. “I must admit,” he said, “that I’ve become hard and bitter.” He returned the question. “Do
you
believe in God?”

“I never even contemplated the existence of God too deeply until last summer,” she said. “My mother died when I was young. My grandfather was not a church-going man, although he did well in teaching me right from wrong.”

“So, what made you contemplate the existence of God all of a sudden?” he asked.

The words came to Abbi’s tongue, but she felt afraid to say them. Cameron’s gaze hardened on her, as if he could see through to her soul.

“Is it such a difficult question?” he demanded.

“Perhaps.”

“You’re the one who brought it up. If you . . .” He stopped, and his gaze deepened further. The emotion Abbi had been battling suddenly increased, burning in her chest. “I swear, girl,” he said, “you look as if you’ve committed some act of thievery and you’re contemplating how to get out of the punishment.”

“I’ve never been dishonest in my life.”

“Until now?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then answer the question!”

“Is the answer so important to you?”

“No, but the fact that you are so hesitant to answer it is. It must have something to do with me, or you wouldn’t look like a scared little mouse all of a sudden.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said with a straight voice, if only to divert his attention from what she didn’t want to say. “The fact that I had to acknowledge I’d been given the gift of dreams has very little to do with you, as far as I can see.”

Cameron turned to put both feet on the floor. “The
gift . . .
of
dreams?
” His eyes became skeptical and she wished she’d said nothing. “How so?”

Abbi took a deep breath, searching for words that might lead away from anything to provoke him further. “I . . . dreamed of my mother’s death before it happened, and my grandfather’s as well. And . . . other odd things. But . . . it wasn’t until last summer that I began to wonder if there was a . . . purpose to my gift.”

“A
purpose?
” His skepticism deepened. “Would that be last summer . . . when a dream led you
here?”

Abbi nodded but wouldn’t look at him.

“Are you trying to tell me, then, that you believe God led you here to . . . what? I don’t know what!” He sounded angry now. “Do you really believe that
you
could possibly help
me
get out of the mess I’m in? Now who is flattering herself?” Cameron made a noise of disgust and folded his arms stiffly over his chest. “I’ll not doubt that a dream led you here. There’s no other possible explanation. Only one man living besides myself knows the way here, and he’d never tell a soul. But I wonder if you’ve ever thought to question the
source
of your inspiration. As far as I see it, your presence here is nothing but torment. You are a thorn in my side, Abbi girl.” He made a scoffing noise while she fought back heated tears. “God didn’t send you here, unless He meant to punish me. You are far too—”

“No!” she interrupted and then heard words come out of her mouth that surprised even herself. “I know how those dreams made me feel. I know their source, and I’ll not deny it.”

Cameron sighed as if she were a disobedient child and he was using great self-discipline to remain patient. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He hurried toward the door. “It’s madness, Abbi—absolute madness. You’re as crazy as I am.”

The slamming of the door made Abbi wince. She looked down at the sketch in her hands, trying to comprehend the serenity she had captured, and how fleeting it had been. Then she cried, wondering if this was all just as he’d said. Madness.

Cameron knew as soon as he left the room that the source of his anger was far more complicated than her implication that she was somehow the answer to his prayers. Maybe she was. But how could he admit to such a thing and keep up the necessary pretenses to keep them both safe? He’d divulged far too much about himself already, and he wasn’t doing a very good job of making her hate him—or maybe he was. Still, less than two weeks had passed and already he was failing in his attempts to keep their relationship impersonal. She had a way of actually making him feel guilty for his lack of sensitivity, and resisting the urge to just talk to her was like putting food in front of a starving man and telling him not to eat. Did she have any idea how her presence alone made him ache for conversation? He wanted nothing more than to just be near her and reap the rewards of companionship. But that was out of the question. He knew the circumstances well, and he’d just have to find a way to uphold his pretenses. Come spring, it could be a matter of life and death. Setting his mind to it with fresh conviction, Cameron went outside to chop more wood.

After crying for several minutes, Abbi resigned herself not to even attempt to understand Cameron. She wiped her tears and forced difficult thoughts from her head as she removed the things from the trunk and laid them out on the bed. A number of dresses took up the majority of its contents. They suited Abbi’s taste by their simplicity, but the styles weren’t really to her liking. There was some minimal underclothing in the trunk, and some stockings. The only other contents consisted of a hairbrush, to Abbi’s delight, and a tortoise shell comb. There were two very plain nightgowns, a pair of shoes that were hopelessly too big, some hair ribbons, a bottle of flowery shampoo, and a jar of lavender bath salts. Surveying the collection, Abbi felt at least grateful for what there was. It could have been worse. She could have been stuck with the clothes she had come in and Cameron’s nightshirts.

Abbi thought for a moment about the woman who had owned them. She found herself wondering what it might be like to be Cameron’s wife. The thought intrigued her, at the same time making her wonder how she could even entertain such an idea with a man who had been so outwardly cruel most of the time. As much as she’d enjoyed the conversation they’d shared earlier, this vacillation in his character was maddening at best.

Impulsively, she chose a cream-colored dress with tucks across the bodice and a pleated skirt. Though it hung loosely on her and was too long, the color went well with her complexion. Abbi cinched in and tucked up the waist, tying it with a long ribbon. She rolled up the sleeves and decided it was much better than an old nightshirt. At least it would do until she had time to alter it, along with the other dresses. She made a mental note to thank Marta, when she returned, for the skills she’d insisted on teaching her that would likely save her now, given the circumstances.

Pulling the brush gratefully through her hair, Abbi wondered about her aunts and how they had reacted to her disappearance. But it did no good to speculate. She had resigned herself to spending the winter here, and she would just have to deal with the consequences when spring came.

She was placing the things back in the trunk when Cameron’s voice boomed from below, “Abbi! Eat now or starve!”

Moving toward the stairs with her crutch, she thought that he could have politely asked her to come down to dinner with the same amount of effort. Before reaching the common room, Abbi could see a meal for two set out on the table. She heard noises coming from below the stairs, apparently where the kitchen was located.

“Can I help?” she called from near the table.

“I can manage, thank you,” Cameron said shortly. He emerged a minute later from behind a partition that divided the kitchen from the dining area. “It’s no more trouble to cook for two than it is one.” He set a platter of meat and vegetables on the table, stopping a moment to stare at her before he was seated. Abbi sat across from him and leaned her crutch against the back of the chair.

“We must bless it,” she said before he managed to get a fork into his mouth.

Cameron looked up at her in surprise, more humbled by her request than he dared admit. He nodded toward her and she offered a brief but sincere blessing on the food. As she began to eat, he took in her appearance once again.

“You look different,” Cameron said with no expression.

“I feel much better,” Abbi said, hoping to begin a conversation. But Cameron said nothing more and the meal went by in complete silence.

Abbi learned quickly that Cameron’s brief effort at conversation was a rare thing indeed. The days wore on, and again they fell into a pattern of speaking only when necessary. Cameron’s tone with her was always sharp, a stark contrast to the way he spoke to his dogs. Abbi quite liked the two hounds that followed Cameron nearly everywhere when he was inside. But she resented the way Cameron treated them with more civility than he did her.