This is the second part of my story Duckish. You can read Part 1 here.
Before she could grab the rock, a hand clamped around her wrist and hoisted her over the edge.
Maggie’s knees trembled. She’d only been suspended for a short time, but the solid earth felt foreign beneath her feet. She was damp through from the fog and salt spray, and the cold was seeping its way into her bones. She lowered herself onto a rock and let her tears flow.
Then there was a blanket around her shoulders, and a strong arm keeping it there. A voice saying it was okay. Maggie focused in on the face, a face that was unfamiliar, but so full of warmth and concern that she didn’t care who this miraculous stranger was. It didn’t matter. He was there. So was she.
“Can you walk?”
Maggie nodded.
The stranger took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Come with me,” he said, and led her toward the woods.
Maggie studied her rescuer as they walked. His hair was dark and disheveled. His eyes were blue, startlingly so. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, but she was never a good judge of age. She had never seen him before, she was certain of that. How odd, in a small place like Gallows Cove, where everyone knew everyone. He couldn’t be a tourist. It was the wrong time of year, and a stranger to the cove wouldn’t know his way around Major’s woods.
“How did you find me?” Maggie’s voice seemed too loud in the silent woods.
“I heard you scream.”
She thought about this. “I didn’t realize I had.”
“You did.” The stranger looked at her. “Loudly. I just happened to be walking nearby and heard you. You’re lucky.”
Maggie was about to ask him why he was walking around the woods with a blanket when she saw the house.
It was weathered and grey, the clapboard exterior spotted with moss. It hunched in the corner of a clearing, as if trying to blend in. Or hide.
The stranger led her up the steps and into a dark kitchen. There was no electricity, but her host lit some oil lamps, and started a fire in the woodstove. The house was small, an old fashioned saltbox, but in the light she could tell it was well cared for. Cozy even. She pulled the blanket closer around her and settled into a chair at the kitchen table.
“You live here?”
The stranger put a kettle on the stove and paused to consider her question. “This is my house. Yes.”
“How long have you been here?”
Again he thought for a long time before answering. He gathered cups, tea, and sugar, and placed them on the table.
“My family has owned this house for as long as it has been here. The land for years before that.” He paused again. “We’ve been here a long time.”
Maggie closed her eyes. This place was so welcoming. She wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of the fire, or the coziness of the room, or the presence of her rescuer. She felt as though she could drift off to sleep, perfectly secure and content. She opened her eyes when he placed a cup of tea on the table in front of her.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“James. My name is James.”
“Thank you, James. For the tea. And for saving my life.” She lifted the cup and drank.
He lowered his head and smiled. “You’re quite welcome, Maggie.”
Outside, the fog rolled past the window. It was duckish now, and the shadows faded into the coming dark.
Maggie stood and placed the blanket on the chair. “I should go. My father will be worried.”
James followed her to the door. “I’ll walk with you. It’s not safe in the woods after dark.”
That was fine with Maggie. She’d had enough danger for one day, and she was suddenly very tired. The company would be good.
The walk back to town seemed to take a long time, much longer than usual. James stayed close by, his arm brushing hers as they walked in silence toward town.
There were no lights on when she finally reached home. James stood at the gate as she approached the house and opened the unlocked door.
“Da! I’m home. Are you here?” She walked into the porch and turned on the light. Her father’s boots and jacket were missing from the closet. “Da?” A quick look through the kitchen and den showed no lights or sound. She returned to the porch and looked out the window, through the branches of the plum tree that cast long shadows across the road. The gate was still open, and James was gone.
Maggie washed and dressed for bed. The events of the day were heavy on her mind, and she was tired. She climbed under the covers and lit her lamp. Her father still wasn’t home, and she wanted to wait up until he returned. She opened her book to read, but couldn’t focus on the story. Her thoughts wandered back to her fall from the cliff, the house in the woods, and James with the brilliant blue eyes.
A rough hand on her shoulder woke Maggie with a start. She jumped, and her book tumbled to the floor.
“Where were you, girl? You were gone the whole evening.”
Maggie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and focused on her father’s face. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he still wore his jacket and boots.
“You’re tracking dirt through the house.” She mumbled, and pushed herself up in the bed. “I was out wandering about. Where were you?”
“Playing cards with your Uncle Tim. Bloody cheater.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re home safe.” He paused on his way to the door. “You didn’t go into the woods, did you.”
Maggie slid back down into the bed. “Of course not,” she lied, and closed her eyes.
I knew there was a good reason for this lull of mine. There was that feeling, that eerie disquiet that precedes something big. I thought it was a storm on the way, or maybe I was coming down with something.
