Page 94 of Canyon of Deceit
I bit my tongue. “I’m sorry. You’re doing everything possible to end the chaos. Wilderness survival is much easier than fighting bad guys. At least in nature I’m aware of the obstacles.”
He moved a chair closer to my bedside. I worried Blane planned to unload devastating news.
“What started you on your career path?” he said.
I sighed. “I thought we were going to discuss any updates.”
He shook his head. “Looking for ways to keep you from worrying about Alina.”
My story lay locked in a vault, and trust shaped the key. We’d been through too many death encounters. Did this mean the time had come to talk about my family?
“Too uncomfortable a topic?”
“My background is on the website.”
“If you’re referring to the sixty acres your mother inherited outside of Austin, an area off-grid without municipal water, electricity, and modern conveniences, I read those things. What a learning experience. My incredible instincts believe there’s more.” He grinned. “Seriously, I see hurt in your eyes that tells me you’ve suffered from a tragedy. Possibly more than one.”
I thanked God the drawn blinds and the faint lamplight shielded my facial expressions from his scrutiny.
“Have you ever shared your story with anyone?”
“No. Not ready now either.”
“You have my attention. Your story goes no farther than the night sky.”
Dare I dig deep within my soul? “Why? Because we’ve saved each other’s lives?”
Compassion emitted from his eyes. “For some people, survival might be the reason. But not me. I want a relationship, beginning with a friendship. And that means to possibly help you work through a painful experience.”
“I do trust you, Blane. You’ve shared your past with me, and I’ve thought about the same thing ever since.” Although revealing my past scared me witless, I managed a smile. “I haven’t taken a pain pill since early afternoon. Hoping I make sense.”
“Take your time.”
The pain in my head had diminished a bit, so I forged ahead. “My parents and I went through a terrible loss, but I doubt they understood how it affected me. You were right about having empathyfor Rurik and warning me about not making a deadly mistake with misused sympathy.”
I waited several seconds debating if I’d regret telling him about Kate. Would I feel better afterward? My life’s backpack had been loaded with bricks. Heavy ones. “I was eight when we moved onto the property my mom inherited from her dad. My little sister, Kate, was three. She’d been diagnosed with leukemia, and my parents desperately wanted to believe nature and clean air would heal her. The doctors instructed my parents to keep her comfortable, which meant they’d given up.”
I closed my eyes. Frail Kate danced in the tall grass. A gentle breeze tossed her white-blonde curls as her tiny body swayed... The same color hair that drew me to Alina.
“My parents acquired skills about living away from modern conveniences—raising food, drinking unpasteurized whole milk from our cows and goats, growing medicinal herbs and vegetables. I learned with them. We were committed to finding a cure for Kate. Dad made weekly trips to the library for research, everything from plants and medicinal herbs, to living off-grid, and lots of reading for me. Mom homeschooled me, which I guess was a good thing since I graduated from high school at the age of fifteen. We were closer than most families, loving and respecting each other the way God intended.”
I drew in a ragged breath. “I trusted God for Kate’s healing, but my parents trusted in nature. We didn’t mingle with anyone for fear we might infect Kate with a deadly virus. When any of us left the farm or encountered anyone, the first thing we did was bathe in the barn and wash our clothes. For five years, Kate improved.”
I forced myself to venture back to those days and dwelled on bittersweet remembrances of hope and heartache. “She died from complications with leukemia, but it took me several years to accept her death wasn’t from my neglect. While she and I were on a picnic, she was bitten by an ant. My parents blamed me when she died, that I hadn’t taken good care of her. Still hard at times not to think if I’d gotten her home sooner, she’d be alive today.” I closed my eyes, andan image of my dear sister smiled at me. “There you have my story. You are the first to hear it.”
“My honor.” He paused. “You didn’t tell your foster parents or any friends or family?”
I shook my head. “Too painful. You asked how and why I chose my career. The wilderness has much to offer. Incredible beauty, a kinship with the earth, and admiration for the plants, trees, and wildlife. The mountains are my favorite.” I opened my eyes and met Blane’s tender gaze from the chair beside me. Shadows danced on the walls and ceiling like friends, and I sensed his caring. “I’ve told you how I treasure the mountains, especially the ones where the peaks soar above the clouds. There is where I feel most alive—where purpose and worship join hands, where songs originate.”
“In the Guadalupe Mountains, you explained your definition of respect, a blend of love and fear,” Blane said. “Those words stayed with me during quiet moments there. Thank you for telling me your story.”
“I appreciate your listening.” I grasped his hand.
“The tone of your voice says how you miss her.”
“A melancholy void. As the years passed, good memories have eased the sadness.”
“How did your parents deal with Kate’s passing?”
