Somewhere In-Between by Donna Milner Read Free Book Online Page A

he’ll have now is walking as far as the old cabin.
    She attacks the roots of another plant, wondered what her husband and their tenant can possibly find in common to talk about. Whatever it is, every time Ian returns from the cabin his step seems lighter, as if a burden has been shed on the short journey. Perhaps it’s just that the old guy is so completely removed from their former life. It must be a relief to spend time with someone who knows nothing of their past, their circumstances, and who expects nothing except to share a cup of coffee.
    Maybe she’ll invite him over for dinner one night. She smiles at the thought of trying to win over the old curmudgeon. There are signs, after all, that Virgil Blue is aware of her existence. The first week he sent two hand-carved walking sticks home with Ian. Later, after her excursions became solo, she discovered a pocket book,
Identifying Animal Tracks of British Columbia
, out on the back porch railing one morning. Not long after there was an information pamphlet on how to react to wild animal encounters.
    Last month, when Ian came back from collecting the rent he told her, “Virgil thinks you need a dog.”
    â€œOh, he does, does he?” she had replied bemused. “I think I’ll pass on that.”
    Then, last week, Ian had returned from one of his bi-weekly trips into Waverley Creek and handed her a black leather case. “What’s this?” she’d asked. Ian was not one for unannounced gifts.
    â€œBear spray,” he said. “Obviously Virgil is trying to tell you something.”
    â€œI’ve never seen any bears,” she said, sliding the can out of the case and inspecting it.
    â€œYeah, well I guess Virgil thinks that they see you.”
    Now, during her hikes, Julie feels the eyes of the forest following her, and sometimes wonders if those eyes belong to their tenant.
    Secretly, she can’t imagine having the presence of mind to remove the can from the leather case, pull out the little red tag and point the nozzle the right way, if a bear were to actually get close enough to her to spray. Yet to reassure Ian, and perhaps Virgil, she tries to remember to strap the bear spray to her waist whenever she goes hiking.
    â€œQuite a bossy old fellow,” she mutters. Yet here she is on her knees digging in the dirt all because of the advice of a complete stranger. The day after the hay was all in, she had found one of his yellow notes on the porch railing. She hadn’t needed Ian to decipher the scrawled message advising the harvesting of some of the potatoes now, while they were small and sweet tasting.
    She tosses another handful of the baby spuds into her basket just as a shadow falls across it.
    â€œLook at this, Ian,” she says raking her hand over the potatoes in the overflowing basket.
    â€œThis is only from a couple of plants. I can’t imagine why anyone would keep such a huge garden for just two people.”
    When there is no response, she looks up, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare. Instead of her husband standing above her, Julie finds herself squinting into the shadowed form of a stranger.
    â€œOh,” she says pushing herself up, “you must be Virgil.”
    The broad-shouldered man standing before her is not nearly as tall as Ian, but he still towers over her. He removes his dust-covered black cowboy hat, revealing the grey sheen of close-cropped hair in sharp contrast with his dark scalp. A wide-set face, neither smiling nor unsmiling, looks back at her with a neutral expression that she cannot interpret.
    He’s not as old as she had imagined, perhaps only a few years older than Ian. It’s hard to tell. The crinkled crow’s feet around his dark eyes, the high cheekbones, the clean-shaven copper-hued skin, smooth except for a faint trace of ancient pockmarks, make for an ageless, surprisingly handsome, face. She has seen this face before; it is not a face you