Part Sixteen
Venturing

Scribe's POV

I don't know how much later it is, but the sound of someone pounding on the door wakes me up. I wake up quickly, eyes flying open, going rigid. Is this is? Is there a SWAT team of some sort out there, ready to kick in the door and snatch me back to my safe, sane old life? I hear someone calling, "Bellewood!"

Jerry is sitting propped up beside me, and I have the sense that he's been watching me sleep. He doesn't look upset. He looks down at me, catching my expression, interpretting it. He smiles a little ruefully, and shakes his head, dismissing my hopes. "That's just James, Justine's husband."

"Hang on." He calls. He slips out of bed, padding to a dresser at it's foot, and pulls out fresh underwear and jeans, dressing quickly. He goes to the bathroom and returns with the clothes he wore the other day. There must have been a hamper I didn't notice.

He removes the door key from his pocket, and my panties. So that's where they were. He examines them briefly, a small smile on his face, and glances back at me before stuffing them in his pocket again. I sigh.

Jerry goes and unlocks the door. It bursts in before he can open it, and he frowns slightly at the man who stamps in, but he doesn't say anything.

The man is about Jerry's height, but I can't tell much more beneath the thick coat. His face is sharp and angular, foxy, and his hair is a short, spiky caramel colored cap. "Whooee, thought I was gonna freeze my balls off, waiting for you to open up, Jer. That gal you got didn't want to let you out of bed?"

Jerry shuts the door, flipping a switch near it that turns on an overhead light. I squint at the sudden blaze. "Hey James. What are you doin' here... so early?" He goes and does something to the space heater, holding his hands over it, checking for warmth. It satisfies him, because he goes next to the fireplace.

"Just inviting you and the new missus over to our place for a wedding breakfast. Justine's real anxious to meet her. Women aren't happy unless they have more of their own kind to natter with."

Jerry is raking the embers, feeding bits of paper and twigs from a skuttle, nursing flames. "That's nice of her. We'll be over in a little bit."

James comes closer to the bed while he's busy. I suddenly realize that the gown is still half unbuttoned, and jerk it closed, beginning to fit slippery buttons into tiny holes. He's watching me closely. His eyes are a peculiar shade of blue green, almost turquoise. "Hello there, sister in law."

"I'm not married to him."

He grins, but his eyes narrow. "Is that a fact. Does that mean you're up for grabs, then?"

There's a thump and Jerry drops a log he'd been lifting back onto the little woodpile, and turns. His expression is stony. "You better be laughin', James. And even if you are, I don't like it much."

"For heaven's sake, Jer. When did your sense of humor run off? I'm just joking with the woman. Please give me credit for more sense than that."

Jerry doesn't look convinced, and I begin to wonder what sort of a history these two have.

"Okay, I did my messenger duty." He goes to the door. "See you two over there, and soon. Don't let her drag you back in for an eyeopener, stud."

He leaves, and Jerry stares after him for a moment. Then he looks at me, and goes back to building the fire. "It'll be warmed up in a minute, then you can get dressed. You'll have to wear what you did yesterday till Lally and Justine get you some new stuff made. It won't be but a day or two. They're fast."

When he's finished, he scoops up my pile of clothes and brings them to the bed. "Your socks and shoes are dried out. Good and warm, too, being next to the fire."

He goes to the dresser again, pulling out two flannel shirts and starting to layer them on. "Go on and get dressed. That gown's bound to be stained, and I'll see if Justine can save it."

I slither my arms out of the armholes, and drag my bra up under the gown with me. It isn't easy, but I work my way into it, and do the same with my shirt. He stands at the foot of the bed and watches me, bemused. The skirt is a pain in the butt, but I managed it, eventhough I have to get up to tuck the shirt in. Then I finally pull off the gown and put it with the other soiled things.

Jerry is shaking his head. "Pretty fuckin' elaborate, Scribe. 'Specially considerin' that you don't have anythin' I haven't seen already." He points. "Go sit down while I make the bed."

I do, and it only takes him a few moments to have it neat and straight. Again I'm struck by the preciseness of his personal habits. How many young, single men, let alone young, single mountain bandit men, would bother to make their beds as soon as they got up, if ever?

"All right. Time to meet the family." He gets into his coat, then hands me a denim jacket that was hanging on a hook near the door. "This'll do you for now. You're not gonna be out long enough to need anything heavier for awhile." I slip my arms into the jacket, feeling it's weight. It swallows me, hanging down around my thighs. It smells like wood smoke, pine trees, and Jerry.

He opens the door and, dear god ever the gentleman, steps aside for me to go out first. I tense slightly as I go past him. Outside, open space. I might not get far, but in the snow, maybe...

The thoughts die away quickly as I get my first good look at the area.

We're in a cleaing, maybe about half the size of a football field. We're surrounded by tall trees, mostly pine, but I see some bare branched aspens mixed in. The trees are thick, but there are occasional gaps at the perimiter, leading back into sparser vegitation.

I stare at the trees. I'm not a city girl, but I'm a small town girl. I've never been completely comfortable with the woods. When my mother and stepdad went on weekend camping expiditons in the RV,

I was grateful to stay at home. "I don't enjoy any activity that may require the dispensing of bodily fluids out of doors." I'd said. One look, and I know that the nearest comfort station is probably in the next county. Still, if I had some idea of where to go...

How did we come in? The jeep sits in a feild of snow, pristine except for one set of tracks, obviously left by our morning visitor. The snow has erased any trace of our arrival, and without tire tracks, I have no idea which direction may lead to civilization, eventually. I can't even guess from the direction the jeep is facing, because I can't for the life of me remember if we circled around before coming to a halt.

The sky above is a grey blue bowl,snow once again drifting down. This time it is sparce and lazy, but the clouds are low. It will probably get down to business again, soon. This cold is incredible. I thought I'd been through some winters, but now I know that concept is laughable. Southeast Texas winter at it's worst in balmy spring compared to what this land is capable of. This is 'think carefully before going out to check the mail' country.

In the distance, on every side, mountains loom around us. I can't see them clearly through the swirling snow and haze, but I know that I won't see a sign of civilization, no matter how I look.

Damn, I've enjoyed books about people dropped down into another world. It might as well have happened to me. This is alien, and so are these people. I think what really sends the situation home, what makes my nipples stiffen with more fear than cold, is that I realize that if I shouted, or screamed, the mountains would echo back the sound.

I feel Jerry's hands on my shoulders, then his arms slip around me from behind. I tilt my head to look at him numbly. His expression is solemn, and I realize that this is part of why he sent me out first. He wanted me to see where I was, and how hopeless, indeed ridiculous, the idea of escape was.

He speaks calmly. "It's about, oh, ten or twelve miles to what passes for a road. That's gonna be impassible, even with a snow plow in a day or so. And even if they did, it's a private road, chained off near the bottom." He rubs his chin on my shoulder. "Nearest neighbor is a ways down the public road, and they're good friends."

He's telling me that I'd have a better chance of surviving jumping off a tall building than I would trying to walk out of here.

His hands move inside the jacket, stroking warm across my belly. It isn't exactly a sexual touch, but I know he's enjoying the way I feel. "So ya see, darlin', it's best you stay right around the cabins, at least till spring thaw. You might get...lost. Don't worry, I'd come find you. I'm a good tracker, and it would be like gov'ment posted road signs in this snow. But it would get awful uncomfortable for you out there. And I'd be upset."

He turned me to face him, putting his hands around my waist. "When I lift, you jump up so I can get you over my shoulder."

"What? Why?"

"I'm gonna carry you over to Justine's."

Perhaps ridiculously, I protest. "No, you don't have to do that." I tug backward, but his hands remain firm. "Damn it, I've been walking on my own since I was a year old!"

His voice is maddeningly reasonable. "Mebbe so, but not through deep snow in open shoes. It ain't good for you to keep getting wet and chilled, so I'll carry you till we get you some boots."

"No!" This is humiliating enough, without being slung over his shoulder like... like a deer he's brought down. "I don't want to, I'd feel stupid."

"Look, Scribe, I'm gonna give you more choice in what happens once you settle down some, but this is not negotiable. This concerns your health, little girl, and..."

"Don't!" I was right, it does echo back. I thump my fists on his chest, realize what a stupid, futile gesture it is, and instead hook my nails toward his face.

He catches my hands easily before I make contact, and swings me around, pushing me against the door. "Now what brought this on? You been doin' so good."

"You're not my husband!" I yell. "You're not my father! I don't need you to tell me what to do." The breath wuffs out of me as he slams his weight against me, pinning me against the cabin.

"Don't you get it yet, Scribe?" His voice is a deep growl, and the fight goes out of me at the sound. There's nothing civilized about that tone, it's pure primative. He takes hold of my hair, holding my head back against the door, glaring into my eyes.

The heat of his breath frosts the cold air between us. "Mebbe we don't have that little bitty peice of paper stuck somewhere in a gov'ment index. But we're MORE than married, sweet thing. We're mated. This ain't an 'I don't wanna play any more, give me a divorce' thing. You gotta understand that."

He kisses me. He's not gentle, like he was last night. It's hard, punishing--instructing. He forces my lips open with his own, and ruthlessly takes control. He licks and sucks and bites till I'm whimpering with pain, and something else. When he finally pulls back far enough for me to breath, I draw in a huge lungful of air so cold it hurts.

His voice is still grating. "Husband, wife. Terms made up to keep records straight, darlin'. I'm your man, you're my woman. I'm gonna be everything to you. I'm your lover, your master, your daddy. Now, are you gonna do right, or do I have to get the shackles and cuffs?"

I can hardly get the words out. "All right."

He stays grim faced for a moment, then smilles beautifully, breaking the expression. "That's my good girl." He steps back a pace, hands on my waist again. This time I put my hands up on his shoulders, and give a little hop when he lifts. I'm raised handily and dropped over his shoulder, head dangling down behind. He carries me over to one of the cabins, moving easily even through the thick snow.