Page 10 of Kissing My Mountain Man

“Oh my gosh,” she whispers.

Her hand grasps my forearm again, and her heat sears my skin in the best way. I can’t stop physically reacting to her.

“Denny,” she looks up at me. “This is Clara’s journal.”

“I gathered as much.”

“No, you don’t understand. This is a lost journal.”

“Now you lost me.”

“Clara famously wrote about her life in her journals, but the dates never matched up with the set my grandfather donated to the university. It was believed that it was just lost over time. But according to the dates written in here. This is the missing journal.”

Landry breathes heavily as she stares at the priceless piece of history. Well, priceless to Landry.

“Listen to this,” Landry says, and I keep my eyes off her lips as she begins to read.

ChapterFive

LANDRY

Denny’s accidental discovery of this journal is the find of the century for me. It won’t make headlines on the nightly news or even send people flocking to this mountain, but it does open that one last door to the past I’ve craved to peer into since the first time I poured over these journals.

I could never understand how one journal of nearly thirty was lost over time. My thoughts even crossed into righteous anger at my family for being so careless with them. But now I realize as I hold this leather-bound treasure in my hand that my anger was utterly unjustified.

July 21, 1883

A man appeared at my door last night. Like a wraith stepping out of the shadows, he thumped his fist against the frame and hollered for me to open up. When I refused him entry into my home, he pounded again. Only this time with half the strength as before. His voice was deep, but I could still hear the pain in the cadence of each word he spoke. I knew better than to let this man in, but there was something that called to me. Maybe a voice from my better angels urging me to help this man when no one else could.

With my rifle in hand, I opened the door. The dark figure leaned one arm against the wall holding himself up, while his other hand held his taut belly. But there was no mistaking the crimson blood that dripped out from beneath his jacket. With a staggering step forward, he fell into my arms, nearly taking us both to the ground. I struggled to help him over to the bed, knowing even then that he wouldn’t likely survive the night.

“Do you think that was J.M.?” Denny asks.

I look up from the familiar cursive handwriting of Clara to Denny’s curious expression.

“Maybe,” I say, walking over to the edge of the porch. I sit down on the step and pat the spot on my left.

“Let’s find out,” he says, taking the seat next to me.

So I continue reading.

July 24, 1883

He is still alive, but there is no certainty that our Lord will not call him back at any moment. I stitched his wound as best I could, but only time would tell if it would be enough.

I managed to get a name as he slipped in and out of consciousness. John Milford. There are no Milfords I know in the territory, but somehow this man found his way to my doorstep. I suspect he might be running from the law. He made me swear on Momma’s grave that I wouldn’t let them find him. I am not looking for trouble, but trouble sure found me.

With each entry we read, it becomes clearer that John Milford has become much more to Clara than just some strange man who appeared at her door in need of some help.

I listen as Denny reads another entry from the journal where Clara begins to admit that her attraction to John has turned into feelings of love. The way she describes him, and their interactions, doesn’t sound too far off from a couple in this century in the early stages of a relationship. The way she catches him watching her when he thinks she doesn’t see or how her heart races when he’s close to her and their bodies brush against one another. It’s easy to forget that they may have lived in simpler times, but what they felt for one another wasn’t simple at all.

August 8, 1883

John and I took a walk this morning. His strength is returning quickly, and I fear once he has fully recovered that he will continue on without looking back. His past inches closer with every day that comes and goes, but all I can see is the future I wish to share with him.

We came across two young saplings near the bend in the path. John joined the two in a lover’s knot, twisting the branches as if they were holding onto one another. He says if they grow together, then what we feel for one another is true. But I don’t need a sign to know that I love him. With every breath I breathe, John will be the only man for which my heart beats.

Denny stops but doesn’t look up from the pages.

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