Stony River Read Online Free Page A

inside, and nearly empty. “I don’t think it’s running,” she said doubtfully, retrieving a glass jar that felt not quite cold.
    “Running?” he echoed. “It’s got a block of ice in the freezing compartment.”
    Of course, she realized foolishly—he didn’t have electricity. But even for knowing that, the thought of a refrigerator without a power source gave her a strange, unsettled feeling. She poured a conservative quantity of milk into her cup and sat down across from Fenn, who was already wolfing his food without ceremony.
    “Don’t you mind living without any modern conveniences?” she asked, taking a bite of the hash.
    “Wouldn’t be here if I did.”
    “But don’t you feel— queer —living so far from everything?”
    “The farther, the better,” Fenn replied, with some feeling.
    Sevana couldn’t get used to him. There was no trace of the boy she remembered. There was nothing boyish about him, no light in his blue eyes. His face had an unfamiliar set to it; he seemed older than he was. Hard and independent, he appeared to need nothing, no one. She didn’t know what to think, nor how to act around him.
    He noticed her staring, so she speared another piece of meat with her fork. “This is good sausage,” she said, popping it in her mouth.
    “Best thing to do with bear, in my opinion,” said Fenn.
    Sevana froze with the bite between her teeth, then forced herself to swallow it. “Bear?” she repeated weakly, chasing it down with a gulp of tepid powdered milk. “I didn’t know—people ate—bear.”
    He smiled in sardonic amusement—the first time she’d seen him smile for any reason. “Sure. I get one every year.”
    For a fraction of a second she closed her eyes. She actually felt dizzy. Then, stubbornly, she stabbed another piece. She couldn’t give Fenn the satisfaction of knowing how horrified she was, to her very soul. Besides, it was either eat what he did, or starve. There were no grocery stores or restaurants she could get to here.
    Waves of isolation engulfed her. “Doesn’t anyone else live out here—besides the logging camp, I mean?”
    “Only a shepherd, roaming the mountains.”
    “Why aren’t there other people?”
    “It’s all Crown land. Only reason this section isn’t, it was homesteaded before the Forest Act went through.” He reached for the skillet on the stove and held it up. “Want any more?”
    But Sevana wasn’t sure she could even finish what she already had, so he emptied the remainder onto his plate.
    She was astonished by how much he ate, and wondered how he’d worked up such an appetite. She had only a vague idea of a logger’s activities, cutting down a tree. Obviously it was dangerous, considering the storekeeper in Cragmont. She asked him what he did.
    He gave a shrug. “Saw, skid, load—a little of everything.”
    “It’s hard work, isn’t it?”
    “Wouldn’t mind the work, if I didn’t have to put up with such a bunch of halfwits,” he said, with a look that made her hastily decide not to pursue the matter.
    As she worked to finish her hash, she noticed the room was cooling down. The very mountain on which the cabin sat was blocking the sinking northwest sun, its own shadow falling back over on itself. The only sounds were a few snaps from the dying fire and the distant whisper of the river drifting in the open door. She sensed again—sharply—the open-ended, almost lost, feeling of the far-ranging wildlands stretching around her.
    She got up and began collecting the dishes, only to realize she didn’t know how to wash them without a sink. She had to watch as Fenn unhooked two washbasins from the wall and filled them with hot water from the teakettle and cold water from the bucket. Then she took over the washing, while he rinsed the dishes and set them on a floursack towel to drain. Last of all he set the wet skillet hissing on the stovetop, and vanished outside.
    Sevana dried the dishes with another piece of toweling and