Stranger on the Shore (11 page)

Sarah tore her gaze from the old tower, turning her head to look out across the expanse of blue-green water. A whisper of a breeze moved across the surface of the lake, ruffling its mirror finish, blowing cool against her heated skin. She lifted her eyes, searching the sky for clouds, for any sign that would indicate an approaching storm. She found none, only the bright glare of sun on water.

"Sure, we can walk to the tower, if you like," she told him with determined cheerfulness. "But I'll warn you, there isn't much to see."

Jordan heard her reluctance. What was disturbing her? Was it him? He was willing to admit to feeling awed to find himself surrounded by the physical remains of Monte Ne, but she was already familiar with them, and something of a historian besides.

"Let's walk by the lake's edge. There's usually a breeze off the water," she said as they began moving down the shore in the direction of the tower.

"The tower's never really underwater, is it? It seems a long way away from the edge of the lake."

"You're right." The tower is just inside the high-water line. The basement level gets water when the lake's at normal levels. But even when the lake's brim-full, water never reaches the first floor level. Of course, there's no first floor anymore. It's an empty shell—one of those skeletons you were talking about." She stopped suddenly and pointed up the bank, away from the lake.

"Oh look, there's one of the footbridges I told you about. Several were exposed the last time the lake was this low, but I didn't know if any of them had survived another decade under water."

"One of the bridges you had to cross if you want a ride in the gondola?"

"That's right. They were small works of art in themselves. Built by local labor. If there's anything an Ozark native knows, it's how to work with stone."

In unspoken agreement, they turned their backs on the lake and began walking in the direction of the small bridge.

"You're right," Jordan said as they drew close enough to make out the details of the picturesque bridge. "Native stonework, and beautifully laid. If this is a sample of landscaping, Monte Ne must have been impressive."

I think so, too. The historical society has old photographs of most of the buildings—the important ones, anyway. But I've never seen any photos of the gardens. Harvey was such a perfectionist, they must have been at least as picturesque as the rest.

Sarah grinned in spite of herself. She didn't know what was wrong with her this morning. The prospect of seeing Jordan again had made her afraid that he might consider that moment of summer madness on the bluff an invitation to continue, or worse, that he might think she casually accepted such physical intimacies. Yes, that was the right word. Even though it had only been a kiss, there had been something intensely intimate about it.

But Jordan hadn't referred to the incident. He'd done nothing to make her uncomfortable, nothing to cause the queasy feeling she'd been trying to shake since arriving at the lake. Must be too much sun, she decided. She should have brought a hat. The sun's merciless rays were as potent for natives as for outsiders. She shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted up at the sky.

"Looks like we're not the only ones taking a trip into the past," Jordan said, pointing to several vehicles parked near the tower. "I didn't realize this was so well known to tourists. There's a station wagon from Tennessee, a car from Illinois and a pickup from Oklahoma. I don't see any passengers, though."

"The Oklahoma pickup doesn't count," Sarah said. We're so close to the state line, we see them often. We don't even consider them tourists. Everyone's probably on the other side of the tower. Part of the foundation slab is still there. It makes a nice level spot for picnicking."

Jordan hesitated for a moment. "Let's skip the tower for now and go on to the amphitheater. I'm not in the mood to share my personally guided tour with a group of strangers."

Sarah nodded without speaking and turned in the direction of the amphitheater. She was unable to repress her sudden pleasure. She didn't want to share these moments either.

They arrived at the amphitheater near the location of the old stage. The ornamental concrete seats of the vast outdoor arena, their original splendor now eroded and stained, still stood in stately rows. They extended from the top of the hill down to where the blue-green water at the present low-water line of the lake lapped softly against the shore

Jordan had seen old photographs in the files of the historical society. He'd studied the original plat map of Monte Ne in an old county atlas. He'd listened to Sarah's descriptions. But now, for the first time, he began visualize the scope, the actual physical dimensions, of what had once been. He found himself mourning the passage of a magnificence that could be recaptured only by the imagination.

As he turned to speak, Sarah, seemingly oblivious of his presence, began climbing through the stained, eroded benches, up the hillside and away from the water. Jordan followed. They moved along the original aisles when possible, when necessary climbing over or around the massive overturned benches that blocked their path. Sarah stopped to rest a little over halfway up the mountainside.

Jordan turned to look in awe toward the top of the amphitheater. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Is all this usually underwater?"

"Yes, most of the time. In fact, the last time I remember the amphitheater being this exposed was over ten years ago. Her voice was hushed, as if she were reluctant to allow the present to awaken what had once been.

He wondered if visitors to the world's mausoleums felt the same unwillingness to awaken the resting past. When he spoke, his voice reflected a quiet reverence for this place of forgotten dreams. "I'm going to the top. I want to see it in its entirety."

"Go ahead," Sarah answered quietly. "I'll wait here." She watched him begin the climb to the top, then sat down in the shade cast by one of the benches, leaning back to enjoy the coolness of the concrete.

She listened to the buzz of flying insects, occasionally joined by the raucous call of a pair of crows in the distance. Somewhere nearer she recognized the song of a bluebird. The sound of Jordan climbing through the ruins above her gradually faded away.

Sarah let her mind go free, thinking of nothing in particular, enjoying the solitude. Time slipped by unnoticed and unobserved. She wasn't sure how long she'd been resting when she realized that the birds were gone. No song of bluebirds. No call of crows. The quiet was disturbing, chilling.

Suddenly alert, she heard the ponderous sound of rolling stones. Instinctively, she flung herself under the nearest concrete bench. From a distance she thought she heard Jordan call her name, but the thundering noise of falling rock and concrete made it impossible to be sure.

She resisted the urge to run and rolled herself into a tight ball as the rumbling sounds drew nearer. Small rocks and chips of concrete rained down about her. The thunder came closer. Again, she thought she heard the sound of her name, but the thunder was now above her, around her. She coughed once, choking in a cloud of dust. It was the last thing she remembered.

Chapter 6

From high on the other side of the amphitheater, Jordan watched in horror as a massive concrete slab tumbled end-over-end down the side of the hill. The falling slab gathered momentum as it fell, striking other bench seats, knocking loose chunks of concrete and stone, letting nothing deflect it from its destructive path.

"Sarah!" His call was both warning and petition as he scrambled over benches toward her. His only answer was his own voice, reverberating among the rows of deserted benches. "Sarah," he called again, the sound feeble in comparison to the thunderous roar of the tumbling debris.

With a speed that looked deceptive in its ponderous slow-motion movement, the tumbling concrete slab ricocheted its way down the hillside, finally coming to rest in front of what remained of the stage. Only seconds later, Jordan reached the area where he'd last seen Sarah.

"Sarah," he called again as the echo of the falling rubble faded away, leaving only an eerie silence to answer. Then he saw her lying quiet and still beneath the bench. He dropped to his knees, reaching for her instinctively before caution could intervene. He ignored the trembling of his hands and felt for the pulse point on the side of her neck, breathing an audible sigh of relief when he located the steady beat with his fingers.

Unconsciously, he caressed her cheek with his hand as he pondered his next move. The massive bench above her head had held, though it's surface now bore fresh scars. Cautiously he ran his hands through her hair, feeling for a bump, a cut, anything that would indicate a blow to the head. He found nothing.

He forced down the fear boiling up in his throat and tried to remember the rudiments of first aid. He shouldn't move her, not until he could identify injuries. Carefully, trying to recall the instructions he'd received in a first aid class years ago, he checked for broken bones, running his hands along her arms, down the slim length of her legs, gently probing her rib cage. Again, he allowed himself a breath of relief when he found no indication of a break.

Should he move her? There was always the possibility of a neck or back injury, but instinct told him it was unlikely. She had protected herself by ducking under the bench. Momentum carried the rubble over the bench and on down the hillside. He reached for her, wanting her out of the dust and dirt.

"Sarah?" He called her name again. His reward was a flickering of her eyelashes. "Please, Sarah. Tell me you're all right."

His voice was her first reality—his voice calling to her, anxiety and concern in every word. Then she felt his hand against her forehead, soothing, comforting. She tried to open her eyes. Again, she heard her name. This time she was able to respond. She opened her eyes.

"Sarah! Thank God you're awake. No, don't try to move. Not yet. You may be injured.

Sarah lay still, trying to remember. The last of the gray fog melted away. She turned her head to focus on his face. He was on his knees, halfway under the bench where she lay. When her eyes locked with his, she saw the color begin to seep back into his white face.

"Were you hit?"

She shook her head slowly. I don't think so. I don't remember being hit."

Jordan, moving awkwardly in the confined space, helping her from beneath the bench. "Careful now. Don't hit your head on the bottom of the bench seat."

"I'm all right, Jordan. Really. I shouldn't be such a coward."

Jordan pulled her to her feet. Then, as if to reassure himself that she was undamaged, he gently moved his hands down her body

Sarah took a deep breath and willed her racing pulse to slow. He was only checking her for injuries, she told herself. It wasn't personal. Why, then, was the touch of his hands chasing coherent thought from her mind?

"I wouldn't call you a coward," Jordan told her as he finished his inventory, his hands lingering for a moment at her waist. "If I'd seen that bench tumbling toward me I would probably have frozen. You had the presence of mind to instantly identify your best chance for safety."

Sarah's little laugh echoed in the quiet air. "That wasn't presence of mind. That was instinct. Faced with danger, I always hide—one way or another. This time I fainted, just went away."

"Not before you'd protected yourself. Call it what you want, I call it pretty good instinct, lady."

Jordan let his eyes sweep the hillside as he speculated on the cause of the accident. The obvious reason hit him at the same time as the realization that more than one of the massive concrete slabs might be in the same condition. Years of immersion underwater had probably weakened the mortared joints holding the massive benches in place. He had to get Sarah out of here.

Before she could realize his intention, he swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest and burying his face against her neck.

"I'm all right, Jordan. I'm not hurt. I can walk. Jordan, put me down!"

"Please, Sarah, I need to hold you." He stopped and looked down into her eyes. "Humor me. Hurt or not, you've had a shock. So have I. I want to get us out of this sun."

She was helpless before the pleading light in his eyes. Slowly she nodded her agreement. Then she leaned her head against his reassuring strength. Her arm moved around his shoulder, her fingers unconsciously tangling in the clipped hair at the nape of his neck.