THE IMMORTAL
Chapter 3 - The Fire
He was warm but the air going into his lungs was bitterly cold. Moving his legs to relieve a cramp, he discovered he was warm because of the heavy quilts lying on top of him.
Jonah opened his eyes to find bright sunlight streaming through a window on the other side of the small room. His first reaction was to make a threat assessment. After millennia of avoiding danger, he’d developed that ability as a sixth sense. Not because he feared death, but in order to prevent himself from losing a limb or becoming infected with a debilitating disease.
He may be immortal, but that didn’t preclude him from getting sick, sometimes to the point of wishing he was dead just to end the torment.
Memories started coming back to him. The snow. The endless days and night. The long, wandering trek. The lack of adequate food and sleep.
A woman’s face loomed in his mind’s eye. Her beauty was almost ethereal. Neither young nor old, she still encapsulated the wisdom of ages in her gray eyes. She had saved him. She and the young boy. Joseph. And it all came back to him.
He centered himself. Inside this room, he detected no danger. Just the opposite. There was a coziness about this place in spite of the freezing temperature. A small baseball pennant hung on the wall above a bureau. A couple of posters were present on the wall with the window like bookends. He noticed a football and a baseball mitt holding a baseball on top of a steamer trunk parked next to a door to his right. Against the wall, near the bed, was a desk and chair. Something that appeared to be clothing had been draped over the back of the chair.
To his left was the only other door. He knew that one opened into the house.
Slowly, he rolled over, slipping his legs and feet out from under the quilts. Once he was able to sit up on his own, he rested until he was certain he wouldn’t be hit with a bout of dizziness if he stood.
A small carafe of water and an empty glass had been left on the nightstand beside the bed. Jonah poured himself some and swallowed the cold water in three gulps. As soon as the liquid hit, he had to pee.
Standing didn’t prove to be a problem. However, the chill in the room was. Shivering, he pulled one of the quilts off the bed and wrapped it around his nearly naked body before stepping off the small rag rug. The wood floor was like ice. He glanced again at the clothing placed nearby. Common sense told him that if the garments were meant for the boy, they probably wouldn’t be placed on the desk.
“They would be in the bureau drawers. Or hung in the closet.” His eyes went back to the door on the back end of the room. “Bet that’s the closet,” he muttered.
Shuffling around the foot of the bed until he reached the chair, he picked up the first article of clothing. Immediately, he could tell the sweatshirt was too large to fit the boy. Same for the pair of sweatpants and socks.
“And they definitely wouldn’t fit her.”
Clearly, the change had been left for him.
He quickly dressed to discover they were a bit large on him. “But you’ve lost quite a bit of weight, old boy,” he told himself. “A few hearty meals, and they should fit just fine.”
Another memory returned. The one where he’d inquired about her name.
Clea Hatch.
But when he’d inquired about Mr. Hatch, she’d averted her face and didn’t answer. Her withdrawal told him he’d hit upon a sensitive subject, and he’d avoided pressing the issue.
Jonah looked down at himself now dressed in warm clothing. “These are her husband’s clothes. Or were.” He mentally shrugged. “Drop the issue, old boy. It makes no difference.”
The clothes were comfortable and warm enough to where he didn’t feel the need to take the quilt with him. He draped it back on the bed then went to seek out the head.
No. The toilet. Bathroom. Restroom.
Slowly opening the bedroom door, he looked out to see the hall and partway into the sitting room. Living room, he automatically corrected himself again. He did that a lot now. Or more often than he used to. Not that it mattered, but because when he referred to places and things, he’d discovered it was imperative because people expected it of him in those times he was forced to communicate with them.
The smell of food came from the direction of the living room. He could faintly make out the sounds of movement and the occasional clatter of pots and pans. And singing. Soft singing. Sweet sounding and wonderfully in tune. The woman, Clea, was cooking. With her attention focused on the meal, he could make his move.
The corridor ended in a door to his right. To the left, the corridor ended in another doorway, but that one was open, revealing what appeared to be another bedroom. And between here and there…
He tried the doorknob. It was unlocked and swung inward. Smiling, he went inside to use the toilet. When he was done, he washed his hands, but not before checking the contents of the small mirrored cabinet above the sink. Two toothbrushes. “One for her and one for the boy.” That meant the man wasn’t just absent. Traveling on the road, perhaps for his job. Expected to eventually return home.
Mr. Hatch was gone. Permanently.
Jonah didn’t know he’d breathed a sigh of relief until he felt it leave his body. “Now you don’t have to worry about the man showing up unexpectedly and perhaps attack you for being in his house.” Smiling to himself, he left the bathroom and walked into the living area.
His stockinged feet made no sound as he entered the room. It was noticeably chilly in here, and his eyes went straight to the fireplace that sat cold and empty.
“Oh! I thought I heard the toilet flush.”
He turned to find Clea standing on the other side of the room that opened up into the kitchen. She was towel drying a pot.
A quick check of the view outside the nearest window confirmed his suspicions. The snow had let up, but the temperature remained at freezing or below, preventing it from melting. He pointed to the fireplace. “Why don’t you have a fire going?”
“Because there’s no more firewood,” she simply replied.
Jonah gestured out the window. “Madam, you are surrounded by trees. This is the time of year to clear out the dead brush and branches, and bring those in to fill your firebox and hearth.”
She sighed loudly. He recognized it as a sign of patient irritation. He smiled inwardly. It was a typical woman’s response. One he’d heard countless times over the years.
“If I had the time, I would, Mr. Cobb. Unfortunately, I’ve been busy trying to put food on the table and keep enough money in the bank to pay my bills. My son has been the one to go out and scour the woods for those branches and twigs you mentioned, but there’s only so much he can do.” She pointed behind her. “If you’re cold, you’re welcome to come into the kitchen and have a cup of tea to help warm you up while I’m cooking.”
He straightened. “I have a better idea. Where are my clothes?”
“They were filthy, so I washed them. They’re in the dryer now. I haven’t had a chance to take them out yet.” She gave a quick glance behind her. Not saying anything, she vanished back into the kitchen. He followed her.
She was standing by the stove, stirring something in a pot on the range. “I’m reheating the potato soup for our lunch.”
“An excellent idea, madam. Where did you say your dryer was?”
He spotted the door the same instant she pointed to it. It opened to a closet-like enclosure where a washer and dryer sat, along with a small sink. His boots sat on a bench beside it. Picking them up, he noticed the snow and grime had been scrubbed away.
He closed the door behind him and shed his borrowed clothing, replacing it with his own attire. A search of his pockets found them empty, worrying him. Spotting his coat hanging from a hook behind the door, he snatched it up and strode back into the kitchen.
“Madam, by chance did you happen to find—”
“It’s on top of the bureau in Joey’s room,” she informed him.
He resisted the impulse to go check. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you. Speaking of the boy, where is he?”
“Mr. Barnes, our neighbor down the road, has a tractor. When the school bus can’t get down the road, he and his daughter come by to take Joey with them to school.” She eyed him. “You’re not serious about going out there to gather wood, are you? You’re barely over being sick as it is.”
“I’m not going far. Just to the edge of the wood. I will only take a few minutes. Hopefully, I can have a fire going by the time lunch is ready.” He eyed the weather outside once more. “Anything I find that would be suitable as kindling will be too wet. Would you mind if I gather a little hay from the barn?”
“Go ahead. But if you’re not back in here in fifteen minutes…”
Jonah gave a bark of laughter. “Yes, Mother. I hear and obey.”
Without the wind to brutalize him, he was able to plod through the drifts to the closest grove of trees where he found several felled branches that would make suitable tinder and dragged them to the back door. After a quick visit to the barn to stuff his pockets with dry hay, he returned to the house. Clea was waiting for him at the door with the ax.
The hunt for firewood had nearly depleted him of what little energy he’d regained, but Jonah was determined to chop at least enough to give them a decent fire. He wasn’t surprised when she reappeared outside, bundled up in her own coat and wool cap, and wrested the ax from him.
“Go take the logs inside and get the fire going,” she ordered in a no-argument-allowed tone of voice. He obeyed without question. By the time she brought some additional firewood into the house, he had the promised fire going in the grate.
“Take your coat off and get warm,” she ordered him. Again, he did as he was told, and was warming his hands in front of the flames when she returned with a bowl of soup in each hand. “I thought we could enjoy our lunch in front of your fire,” she lightly teased.
“In front of our fire,” he just as lightly countered. Taking the bowls from her, his fingers brushed hers, and in that brief instant, it was as if something he couldn’t explain happened inside him. He glanced up to find her staring at him with those gray eyes the color of rain clouds for what felt like the longest time before breaking away. “I’m going to go get the bread. I’ll be right back.”
He watched as she strode into the kitchen.
And in a blink of an eye, he was inside the barn with the cows and sitting on the mound of hay he’d previously visited.
TO BE CONTINUED
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