For the rest of the day, the guys worked high up on the ridge trail, erasing with shovels the shortcuts created by hikers who shunned the trails's switchbacks. The girls cleared a fallen tree from a trail on the other side of camp. Joanna expected questions from the girls--about Clay, about the waterfall, about the two of them--but none came. Carrie, uncharacteristically, had said nothing to Sheila, and Joanna was grateful for that. Up on the ridge, Clay experienced much the same. K.C. had not said anything to anybody. At midday, K.C. disappeared without explanation, but returned later that afternoon.

When both groups descended to camp for dinner, they found another tent pitched near Dave and Sam's.

"I had an extra," said K.C. "So I thought I'd put it up."

"You're a sweetheart," said Sheila, and gave him a little hug.

After dinner, they built another campfire and gathered around. Dave and Sam roasted marshmallows. The others sat and talked in low voices; they were tired after the day's work and looked forward to finishing tomorrow and hiking back out.

Joanna thought she might get her mandolin, bring it out to the fire, and play for a while. Maybe something slow and sweet rather than energetic and bright. She headed to Clay's tent to get her instrument. Once inside she turned on the lantern that hung from the roof. Sheila had taken her pack and sleeping bag to the extra tent. Joanna's belongings were scattered about, and her sleeping bag lay bunched in one corner. She smoothed the bag flat and stuffed her clothes in her pack. She searched for and found a pick, sat on her sleeping bag, and played a few notes.

She was interrupted by the sound of the zipper as Clay yanked it up and ducked into the tent.

"Hey, Joanna. Bluegrass girl." he said. He pulled the zipper down again.

"Hi," she said.

He sat on his sleeping bag. "Tuning?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, laying down the mandolin.

"I've hardly seen you since this morning," he said.

"I know," she replied.

There was a long silence, and Joanna fought the impulse to fill it with words, any words. The lantern swayed gently, and the shadows flickered across the tent walls. She looked at Clay in the shifting light--his glasses, the blue flannel shirt with the rolled up sleeves, the hair on his forearms, the big hands. She flushed.

Clay looked at Joanna, miles away on the far side of the tent. She held his gaze, her dark eyes pools of water, calm and quiet, waiting.

"Joanna, come sit over here?" he asked at last, and patted a spot next to him on top of his sleeping bag. She came to him and sat. Just being near him made her breaths come more quickly. Clay removed his glasses. This close he could see her fine. Her hair hung loose around her face and spilled like a dark cape over her shoulders. He lifted a hand and ran it through the hair. He gently pushed off the sweater she'd draped across her back.

"Not too cold?" he asked.

Joanna shook her head. She moved her hand to stroke Clay's forearm, to run her fingers through that hair at last. Clay closed his eyes, then exhaled slowly.

"Joanna," he whispered. He drew her close until her soft curves pressed against him. Joanna closed her eyes and forgot everything but the pulse of Clay's heart. "Joanna," he whispered again. Joanna opened her eyes, pulled back from a place she didn't want to leave. Their eyes met and he asked," Will you sleep in my tent again tonight?"

"Yes," she said. Clay reached above to turn off the lantern. As their lips met, he gently pulled her down beside him.

The next morning, Joanna again awoke first. The soft morning light lent the scene--two sleeping bags unzipped and pulled together like blankets, two sets of clothes scattered here and there--a certain tenderness, or maybe it was just memories of last night coloring her vision. Yesterday morning she'd watched Clay from the other side of the tent, his long body sprawling out of his sleeping bag. Today she was a part of that sprawl--he lay on his stomach with one arm stretched across her. Again she admired the freckles that dotted his back and the long red eyelashes. She sighed and stretched her body like a cat. Unfortunately, she needed to get up. Carefully, she slid out from under Clay's arm and looked around for clothes to put on quickly. She wanted to leave and then return to this perfect scene, without waking Clay. She found his flannel shirt and pulled it on, buttoning it up all the way. She slowly unzipped the tent and stepped outside.

The sound of the zipper awakened Clay. He rolled over onto his back and stretched. His muscles were so relaxed he felt he might dissolve into his sleeping bag. Smiling, he remembered the night before. There was only one problem. He missed Joanna already, and she'd only been gone three minutes. He sat up and searched for his clothes.

Before returning to the tent, Joanna stopped at the cooking area for a drink of water. She buried her face in the shoulder of Clay's shirt, inhaling deeply. Hearing something, she glanced up at the tent and saw Clay walking toward her down the slope.

"Morning," he said. Joanna leaned against their makeshift table, bare legged, with Clay's blue shirt hanging down almost to her knees. "Nice shirt," he added, wondering what she was wearing underneath.

"Sorry," she said. "Water?" Clay nodded. She set out two cups. As she lifted the transparent amber bottle to pour, it caught the sun, and a dozen golden jewels of light were sent dancing across the table. The sound of the water filling the cups reminded Clay of the waterfall, and he remembered lying on top of Joanna on the mossy rock behind the falls. After she set the bottle down, he pulled her to him for a long kiss. He slid his hands up beneath the shirt and found only bare skin. He cupped her hips in his palms and pulled her hard against him.

"Hmmm," he said. "Joanna, what are we doing out here?"

"We're getting a drink, and then we can go back to the tent," she said. "If you'd like."

"I'd like," he said, tugging her in the tent's direction.

After they made love, they slept again, the deep, contented sort of sleep that pays no mind to the clock. When they awoke, the bright light told them that early morning was long past. Clay found his watch and sighed. He reached over and ran his hand down Joanna's back.

"I hate to say this, but we'd better get going," he said. "We have to finish the trails, pack up, hike out. But prepare yourself--the gang is going to love the fact that we slept in so late."

They dressed and walked down to the cooking area. The camp was deserted.

"Here's a message for you," said Joanna, hoisting a shovel from the table.

"And one for you too," said Clay, gesturing at the hatchet that lay nearby. "You've made it, Joanna. K.C. is leaving you tool messages!"

Joanna smiled. "They left us something else too," she said, pointing to the bouquet of red Bee Balm in the water bottle.

"A nice touch. Yep, they are having fun with this," said Clay.

"So every week, you come up here and do this with a cabin of third grade girls?" asked Clay, as he stepped easily from stone to stone in the river. It was late afternoon and the golden sunlight streamed through the trees. He and Joanna had paused along the river trail on their hike back to the main Y camp. They'd left their packs on the trail and changed into their sports sandals so they could get their feet wet.

"Every week," said Joanna, leaping to a stone several feet away. "They love it."

"You are making me feel really good here, Joanna," he said.

She laughed.

"Why can I do this today?" asked Clay. He balanced, each foot on a rock, then abandoned the rocks in favor of just sloshing through the river. He bent down to pick up a small orange stone from the river bed. He ran his fingers over its smooth surface and then placed it in his pocket.

Joanna thought for a moment. "Because you know this river," she replied.

"I know the river?"

"You've walked along its banks, you've waded near its source, you've lain under the waterfall. And I just saw you put a river rock in your pocket. You know the river."

"Hmmm," said Clay, thinking. "Well, just don't expect me to go swimming in it tomorrow."

Joanna laughed again, and Clay caught up to her and kissed her as they stood in the water.

"Come over here," he said, pulling her by the hand toward the bank. They waded over and sat on a large rock at the stream's edge, leaving their feet in the cool water. Clay looked into her eyes, held her hand in both of his, and began to sing.

They say for everyone, there's that certain one
Out there, somewhere
I'd been looking hard, searching every heart
Getting nowhere
Didn't know I was making my way to you

The beauty of Clay's voice overwhelmed her. She was taken back to their first night by the river and remembered how his magnificent voice had soared into the night. And now--how could that voice be singing those words to her? Its pure tones, its words of love--sung so tenderly--were for her? She felt tears coming to her eyes.

Now I know how the river feels
When it reaches the sea
And finally finds the place
It was always meant to be
Holding fast, home at last
Knowing the journey's through
Lying here with you
I know how the river feels

She knew two tears had fallen down her cheeks, but she couldn't help it. Clay bent to gently kiss her and then held her close against his chest. Joanna sighed and relaxed against him.

"I will never sing that song again without thinking of you," he whispered. Joanna was still, unable to respond.

Clay drew back slightly, looked down at her, and then wiped her tears. He shook his head. "Joanna, Joanna, what am I going to do with you? First time I sing a song to you, you faint. This time, you cry." He smiled, and bit his lip. "Are we making progress here?"

She smiled back. "Yes," she said. They stood and walked back up the trail to get their packs. Then they continued hiking along the river, their talk and laughter blending with the river's gurgling, rushing song.

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this story was written in May 2003; copyright Elena Felsig

this page was last updated 5/16/03