Redemption at Creekside

Chapter 6: Her

He awoke early. The sun was just popping it’s head over the treetops and shining brightly on him. Was that what awakened him? He didn’t think so. But then what did?

Then he heard what sounded like someone walking at a leisurely pace. His camping spot was hidden behind a thicket of assorted weeds and jaggers. Slowly and carefully he extracted himself from the sleeping bag without making a sound. Then he looked to his right and saw the source of that noise.

About a dozen yards away, he saw a flat spot covered with low grass and no weeds. It looked for all the world like a well-trimmed lawn, but buried deep in the woods. Stepping onto the lawn was a young lady. She had a small knapsack, from which she pulled a beach towel, and spread it out on the grass. Then she knelt down on it. She formed her hands into loose fists and pressed her knuckles to the ground. Then she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Her lips moved briefly as though she were saying something, but no sound was made. She knelt there like a statue for several minutes. There was a trace of a smile on her face, a look of contentment.

As he looked at her, in his mind he said, “She walks in beauty like the night of something something and something something.” He couldn’t remember it when it was on the test, and he couldn’t remember it now. And why would those words come to him now anyway? This young woman was not a beauty. Not in the usual sense, anyway. She had a rather plain face. Her hair was dark, almost black; and as everyone knows, gentlemen prefer blonds. And if she was feminine in any way, the blue jeans and flannel shirt hid it well.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and tilted her head down, as though she were coming out of a trance or something. Then she looked into her knapsack and pulled out a book. She lay down on the beach towel and opened the book to a marked spot, apparently around the middle of the book. For perhaps a half hour, she read from her book. Then she packed up and took off.

He had all kinds of questions about her. Who was she? What was she doing here? Would she come back? Should he move to another spot further away? Maybe he really didn't ask that last one. If he had, the answer would most certainly be yes, he should move. This was too close for comfort for someone who is in hiding.

Anyway, for now the priority task was to get something to eat. And as luck would have it, there was a food source very close by: a rabbit’s burrow. He would shoot one, then skin it, clean it, and cook it. He'd have to start a fire to cook it. But first things first. A nice big rabbit was grazing nearby. He could shoot it easily.

He loaded his bow and drew the string back. Then he aimed. At that point, he realized that his hands were shaking. He had never killed an animal larger than a fly. He had eaten game meat that his uncle had bagged. He liked it, too. But the thought of dealing with the blood and guts was making him nauseous. Now what? I wonder if Tony's Pizza delivers out here. Well, let's see what's in the survival kit. A pocketknife. That's as worthless as the bow and arrow. Some matches, another flashlight, a first aid kit. What have we here? High calorie survival bars. Three of them. That's what we're looking for.

He grabbed one of them. It was foil wrapped and quite difficult to open. It might have been easier to open had he remembered the pocketknife. He took a bite. It tasted vaguely like granola, although he would more likely describe the taste as “dusty”. It was hard and very dry. He had to take a sip of water after each bite. And he repeatedly spilled a bit of water with a sip. He ate about a third of the bar. That would be enough for one meal. The bar satiated his hunger, but not his appetite.

OK. Now what? “I don't suppose there is a TV set in here.” There was a pencil and a small writing pad. “I could write myself a letter.” Some facial tissues. Keep them handy. They will serve as toilet paper.

Going through this pack will not keep me busy for long. Is there a pack of playing cards in here? Nope. Nothing here to pass the time.

He was desperate for something to do so that he would not be thinking about jail, police, courtrooms. Hank had never been in serious trouble, but some of the friends that he hung out with had. He had gone to visit one of his friends in jail. It was unnerving for Hank. And the horror stories that his friend told him of what goes on inside the jail... He had to get his mind on something else.

He arranged his equipment in a way that seemed logical to him. He decided where his kitchen would be. The bathroom was a tree at a sniff-proof distance from his camp. It had already gotten broken in.

What next? He hadn't gotten much sleep, and it soon occurred to him that sleep was as good an activity as any other under the circumstances, so he crawled into the sleeping bag and tried to drift off. But thoughts of jail kept creeping into his brain, making it difficult. Wasn't there something else he could think about? In fact, there was another thought that kept creeping into his brain: book girl. Who was she? What was she doing there? What was she reading? Would she be back again? Should he move further away? The further he moved away from whoever might see him, the better. But he didn’t move.