Out of the Ashes Page 5

  “This delightful young woman, who so foolishly desires the wrong fellow, has but one chance of securing his interest.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Why, she must be sought after, longed for, by another. This will make her more desirable to the unworthy fellow she imagines herself smitten with.”

  “And how does she manage this?”

  “Why, by seeming to accept the attentions of the fellow at her side. By showing interest in him, even if she is only playing at it.”

  “And what advantage is that to him, since she’s not really interested in him at all?” This may have been a bit cruel, but he’d said enough embarrassing things about me that it seemed only fair for me to take a shot back at him.

  “His advantage is that he then has the chance, however slim, to open her eyes.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That perhaps, just perhaps, she will realize that he is the right one for her after all.”

  “And if that doesn’t happen?”

  “Then they must both pay the price for her folly. It’s a risk he would be prepared to take.”

  Folly indeed! As if he knew anything about Nick. As if I was ever going to think Greg would make a better boyfriend than Nick would. It was ridiculous.

  It was also intriguing, the idea that he was willing to put himself in the position he’d just described. I could suddenly see the very real possibility that it would indeed help me get Nick’s interest.

  And I knew what Mom would have to say about such a thing. Not that I would ever discuss it with her, but in spite of that, her voice was in the back of my head pestering my conscience. I wonder sometimes how she manages to come through at moments like that. I’d just had a pretty tempting offer, and I couldn’t take advantage of it because her unspoken disapproval hung over me like some sort of weird ethical cloud.

  “Well, thanks for the fairy tale,” I told Greg, standing up. “But if you ask me, it’s the guy in your hypothetical story who needs his eyes opened, not the girl.”

  “You could be right,” he smiled. “Maybe we can discuss it further at Christmas.”

  “Christmas?”

  “Yes, your mother has kindly invited my dad and me to have Christmas dinner with your family.”

  I knew right off that he wasn’t making that up. It was just the kind of thing my mom would do. At that moment I wished she wasn’t such a nice person!

  Later on though, when I’d had more time to think about it, I decided that it wasn’t really all that bad. Talking to Greg could be fun, especially if there was no one else nearby to hear some of the strange things he said. I figured I could stand having him around for a couple of hours. I was curious about his dad too, and this would be a chance to meet him.

  Maybe I could look at him and somehow be able to tell if he was the Little River fire starter!

  CHAPTER NINE

  My stomach was growling from the smells of Christmas dinner by the time our family and the Taylors sat down to eat. Dad carved the turkey while steam wafted up from the dishes holding potatoes, gravy, stuffing, carrots, turnip, and warm rolls.

  Greg and his father hadn’t been at our place long when I saw where Greg got his way of talking. Mr. Taylor spun out conversation that captured our attention and held us still, waiting for more. It made me think of a spider’s web.

  He didn’t look at all as I’d pictured him. In my imagination he’d been tall and thin and pale, with a beard and glasses. It had been a surprise to find that he was broad shouldered, with muscular forearms that bulged against the rolled-up sleeves of the blue plaid shirt he wore. His hair was long, about shoulder length, and looked as though he didn’t give it much attention. It wasn’t exactly messy; it just didn’t have that overly styled look you usually see on an older guy who has long hair. There was no beard, no glasses, and he had a healthy, weathered look that you’d expect from someone who spends most of his time outdoors.

  I liked him. When he spoke, he included everyone instead of passing over us teens and concentrating on the adults, like most grown-ups tend to do.

  He didn’t ask me how old I was or what grade I was in or how I liked school. Those questions irritate me. It’s as though they’re the only things adults can think of to ask a kid, and you can always tell they aren’t really interested in your answers.

  “Greg tells me that you have a love for literature, Shelby,” he’d said during a break in the conversation. “Suppose that you were to spend five years in an isolated place, say a cabin in the woods where you’d have no contact with anyone. Suppose that you could take only three books with you.”

  “That’s not very many,” I said, dismayed at the thought. I couldn’t imagine being limited to the same three books for five years.

  “Then you’d have to choose very carefully.”

  “We have a book that contains the complete works of Shakespeare,” my mom remarked. “Would it be cheating to take that?”

  “Not at all, but this is Shelby’s list.”

  “I hate Shakespeare,” I moaned, “it’s so hard to know what he’s saying most of the time.”

  “I felt that way right through university,” Mr. Taylor smiled. “It’s a lot of work to read the Bard. You have to be willing to invest yourself in his writing.”

  I’d never thought of investing myself when I was reading anything. It was interesting to think of it in that way. It implied that there was a payoff for the effort.

  “I really don’t know what three I’d take,” I said finally. I felt a little pressured, as though I was taking a test and hadn’t been able to study for it.

  “Excellent!” He lifted his empty fork up in the air as though he was holding up a scepter.

  His proclamation startled me.

  “That proves that you would choose well. You aren’t willing to just name any three books you like. You’d want time to think it through, to make your selections with care.”

  I felt suddenly proud, as though I’d made perfect choices instead of saying I didn’t know. And I felt as though my opinion was valued and interesting.

  “Well, my first choice wouldn’t take much thought,” my dad spoke up. “I’d darned sure need a cookbook of some sort.” He patted his stomach in satisfaction at the huge meal we’d all just shared. “Otherwise I’d be living on toast.”

  The subject of spending five years learning to survive and do everything for yourself spread out in front of us and kept us occupied through dessert. It was fun thinking of how you’d have to take provisions like flour and sugar and yeast to make bread and how you’d have to learn to scavenge off the land for some of your supplies.

  “I couldn’t trap poor innocent animals!” I said when the talk turned to procuring meat.

  “What would you do for protein then?” Greg asked.

  “I’d take peanut butter, and chickens for eggs.”

  “But your chickens have died and the peanut butter turned rancid.”

  “I’m not killing and skinning animals,” I insisted, making a face at the thought. “There must be other things a person can get protein from.”

  “Perhaps you’d cook dried beans and our national food — oatmeal,” Mr. Taylor offered helpfully.

  I hadn’t known that oatmeal contained protein or that it was Canada’s national food. That seemed kind of funny until Mr. Taylor explained what a great food it actually is.

  It was amazing how I learned so many things over dinner that day just by talking about stuff that was fun and interesting. I couldn’t help but think that Mr. Taylor must have been a great teacher at college, the way he could get a person drawn into a topic and considering all different things about it.

  All in all, it was a great meal. Well, except for one thing. When we were nearly finished eating, Mom went to get more coffee, and Dad followed her into the doorway where a sprig of mistletoe was hanging. To my horror, he kissed her right in front of everyone. Talk about gross! I made no effort to hide my disgust at this outrageous sp
ectacle, but no one else seemed to mind it.

  When we had stuffed mincemeat pie into our already full stomachs, our guests insisted on doing the dishes. Mom tried to object, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to win, especially when Mr. Taylor said he’d arm wrestle her to see if he’d get his way.

  Mom looked so surprised at the suggestion that we all laughed, and then she declined the arm wrestle and sent me off to the kitchen with them to show them where everything went.

  I felt strangely proud of Mr. Taylor for doing this. It was such a nice way of repaying Mom for the dinner invitation. Even though she’d tried to refuse the offer, I knew she was tired from cooking all day long. It was great for her to be able to sit down in the living room and relax instead of having to do the big clean-up. And of course, I would have been helping her, so it was beneficial to me too.

  It was kind of sad though, watching Greg and his dad doing the dishes. Mr. Taylor washed and Greg dried, and I couldn’t help thinking about how they must do this together at home all the time because there was no Mrs. Taylor anymore. It looked wrong somehow, because she was missing from the picture. I wondered what she had looked like and how she had fit with the two of them.

  Just as we were finishing up, Betts arrived to tell me about some of the gifts she’d received. I had a bad moment when she was introduced to Greg’s dad and she got an excited look on her face. I thought for sure that she was going to start asking him embarrassing questions. It reminded me of how I’d been planning to watch him for signs that he might be the Little River fire starter, which by then struck me as ridiculous. There was no way a nice man like Mr. Taylor was involved in something like that.

  I never found out whether or not Betts might have gotten around to prying because Greg suggested that the three of us go outside and build a snow sculpture.

  “It’s kind of dark out,” Betts pointed out. She didn’t seem that enthusiastic, but I was glad for the idea. After being in the hot kitchen, the thought of fresh air was more than welcome.

  “We’ll put on the porch light,” I said, hauling on my jacket and gloves. “It’ll be fun.”

  She shrugged and came along just as I knew she would. Betts is really a good sport, and even if she complains sometimes she always comes through.

  We couldn’t agree right away on what we were going to make so we just started making a big mound, building up a pile of snow in the middle of the yard. By the time we had enough to shape into a sculpture, we’d agreed on making a snow castle. It was just taking form when Betts tossed the first snowball and hit Greg on the arm.

  “I can see that we’re going to need to build a dungeon in our castle for this miscreant,” he laughed, lobbing a snowball back at her.

  “What did you call me?” she demanded, ducking and laughing.

  “Thou art a most sneaky and evil villain,” he said solemnly, gathering more snow into a ball.

  Well, that was the end of our sculpture. Fluffy white orbs flew back and forth faster and faster until we were all out of breath and gasping with laughter. Our faces were red when we finally went back inside to warm ourselves. Greg’s mitts were covered in snow and I banged them over the kitchen sink to knock some of it off before hanging them up to dry.

  “Neat mitts,” I commented. They were black with a red and purple design. He told me that it was an Aztec pattern and then added that his father had knitted them.

  “Your dad knits!” Betts almost choked on the words.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Well, guys don’t knit.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Knitting is for women.”

  “Women have been fighting that very attitude for years. Do you think that men and women have to be restricted to certain roles?”

  “That’s not what she meant,” I said quickly. I could see Betts’s face clouding over, and I knew she wasn’t going to win an argument with Greg.

  “Don’t you think Betts should speak for herself?”

  “Come on, don’t make a big deal over something this small.”

  “Stereotyping isn’t a small thing. Men and women need to accept each other’s right to make choices based on individuality, with all gender bias aside. Until that happens we’re all affected by unfair restrictions and ideas.”

  Well, by then Betts was getting pretty upset. She left almost immediately, saying she’d call me the next day.

  I was furious with Greg and hardly spoke to him again before he and his dad left. The nerve of him, coming to my house and starting a fight with my best friend!

  On the other hand, I figured it was just the excuse I needed to avoid any more contact with him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By the time school went back in, Betts seemed to have forgotten all about the argument she’d had with Greg. Well, maybe argument isn’t exactly the right word. It’s not as if she was holding up her side of it, and I think that’s what bothered me the most. He knew perfectly well that she couldn’t defend herself, especially since she didn’t even know the meaning of some of the words he used. It was an unfair attack.

  But Betts never holds a grudge for long, which is something I usually admire in her a lot. I can be way more stubborn and vindictive than she can, and her good nature has saved us from serious quarrels more than once.

  Greg hadn’t called me after Christmas, and I knew he was well aware that I wasn’t too happy with him. I naturally assumed that was going to be the end of the whole matter with him.

  So when Betts kept talking to me about him, how much he liked me and all that stuff, it was really exasperating. I did my best to point out how rude he’d been to her, but she laughed it off as if it wasn’t worth remembering.

  I guess that’s where we first came in. Betts and her campaign to help me see that Greg was the Man of My Dreams. I think it was probably because she was still seeing Graham and wanted us both to have steady boyfriends so we could do things together as couples. Whatever her reason, it was wearing pretty thin, and I was just barely managing to stay patient about the whole thing.

  Another big reason I needed to stay as far away from Greg as possible was that Nick had broken up with Jane. I saw her in the hallway the first day of school after the Christmas break and I almost felt sorry for her. She seemed really sad, walking with her eyes cast down and her face set hard and tight, as though she had something clenched between her teeth. It made me feel guilty when I thought of how happy I’d been to hear the news about their breakup.

  “Nick got fed up having a girlfriend who never wants to go anywhere or do anything,” Betts gave me the low-down. “I heard that every time he called her to make plans she had some excuse that she couldn’t go out.”

  That seemed strange all right, but then Jane has been kind of odd ever since I’ve known her. Her mom and dad divorced when she was little, and her mom remarried not too long afterward. I always figured that she never got over her folks splitting up like that. Still, I think her stepdad is okay. I remember seeing him walking with her when she was small, holding her hand and talking to her. Lots of dads don’t spend as much time with their daughters as Jane’s stepfather does with her.

  Even these days it’s common to see them driving along together. She’s always leaning away from him, staring hard out the passenger window with a look of resentment on her face. And her attitude hasn’t escaped people’s notice either. I’ve heard more than one person talking about how spoiled and mean she acts, and what a nice man he is to keep making an effort to be a good father to her in spite of it.

  Maybe it’s natural for her to dislike him, since her own father isn’t around anymore. Some kids never get over their folks splitting up and keep hoping that someday they’ll get back together. I guess it’s like that for Jane.

  Well, I wasn’t about to spend my time feeling sorry for Jane Goodfellow. She had her chance with Nick and she blew it. Now it would be someone else’s turn, and I was determined that it was going to be me. Only I would be an ideal girlfriend, and
he’d never want to break up with me.

  By the time we’d been back in school for a week I was pretty confident that Nick was going to ask me out. He went out of his way to talk to me and always gave me little hints that told me he was interested.

  Then today on my way to history class he had just passed me in the hallway when he turned and called out, “Hey, Shelby.”

  I stopped in mid-step with the usual thrill running through me. Still, when I spun around to face him I did my best not to look too eager.

  “Oh, hi Nick,” I said, as if I hadn’t noticed him walking by only seconds before.

  “Are you doing anything tonight?”

  My heart leapt right up into my throat. Well, I guess it didn’t, but it sure felt like something was there. The best I could do was shake my head “no.”

  “Can you come over to my place later?” He reached his hand out and touched my arm in the most casual way, as if he didn’t even notice he was doing it. His eyes looked right into mine. “You’re a whiz at English, and I need some help with a stupid essay we have to write. I can’t get anywhere with it, and it’s due tomorrow.”

  “How much do you have done?” I managed to ask. I had a lot of homework of my own and a project in science that I’d sort of let slide for too long.

  He smiled and shrugged in the most adorable way. “None actually. And the coach is going to suspend me from the basketball team if I don’t bring my marks up. I could sure use your help.”

  I hesitated. If I didn’t get my science project finished, I’d lose points for it being late. I really needed most of the evening to finish it and get the rest of my homework done.

  “You said you weren’t doing anything,” he pointed out with another smile. “But if you can’t make it, don’t worry about it. I think Allison would probably give me a hand.”

  Allison! That conniving witch has been throwing herself at Nick forever. I could just picture her using the excuse to sit really close to him, batting her eyes and giggling. The thought almost made me sick.