Once, Lotty had gone with them and brought an armful of wild daffodils, and she’d thrown them into the whirling pool at the bottom of the falls, one by one, as he’d told her a story. She had made strawberry lemonade and cucumber and fish sandwiches for lunch for Diego and Rubin.
She never complained and always seemed happy, even though both men knew her life had to be somewhat lonely. When they came to check on her and visit, they always brought fresh meat, but also supplies and novelties such as jams and buttons and threads and things they knew Lotty would have trouble getting.
Once, she showed them a hand-croqueted lacy shawl their mother had sent to Lotty on her wedding day. Lotty treasured it. Rubin knew his mother would have needed that shawl herself, but she’d gifted it to Lotty. That was the way of the people they’d grown up with. No matter the dire circumstances, or the extreme poverty, they tried to help one another.
Huntington Falls was as sacred to Rubin as the Gunthrie property, another memory he associated with his sisters and Lotty. To have outsiders—killers—come in and desecrate it was disturbing to him on many levels.
Yeah. I’ll always think of it as Huntington Falls. I took the twins there one time. Snuck them out of the house in the middle of the night. Thought we’d be back before sunup. Thought we’d make it back in time to get the chores done in the morning. You covered our asses, remember?
Diego had. He’d fed the few chickens the foxes hadn’t gotten, collected eggs and done as many chores as possible before their mother had gotten up. Rubin and the twins had gotten in a whole hell of a lot of trouble. Rubin had taken it stoically, as he always did.
You always made up your mind to do something and you just did it.
That was the truth. It was a big part of his personality. If Rubin defied the rules, he always weighed the consequences ahead of time and decided whether it was worth it. Giving his sisters a little bit of magic in a grim world was worth a beating with a belt or the lack of dinner for a night or two. Usually, the girls or Diego snuck him food if that was the punishment. If they couldn’t slip him food, he could go hungry. It was that simple.
You’re still like that, Diego added.
Rubin couldn’t argue with that assessment either. He was. Regardless of what those in authority said, he always acted on what he believed to be right or wrong. He had a strong sense of justice. He figured someday that was going to be the thing that got him in the end. He was in the service, and one couldn’t flagrantly violate authority. Luckily, he was in the GhostWalker program, which allowed for some leeway, but he still had to answer to his unit.
He did try to do the right thing. He did follow his mother’s advice. And Ezekiel’s. They both pushed education. Rubin and Diego set up a scholarship fund for the families in their region to be educated. The money covered not only the tuition but books and lodging as well. The most difficult part was often getting the children comfortable with leaving the freedom of the mountains for what seemed the restrictions of city life.
Rubin loved the people, their connection to one another, their history and culture and their fierce independence. It could be said his history was one of tragedy, but when he was in the mountains long enough, he remembered why he came back every year. He remembered the moments of peace. Of happiness. There had been times of joy. Laughter. Not everything had been a struggle. The struggles had given him strength. The little moments had taught him the core values that made up who he was. Who Diego was. Those were the reasons he kept returning. Neighbors like Luther and Lotty Gunthrie. Mathew Sawyer. There were other families. He remembered them. Ones that had so little but were always willing to share what they had when it was needed.
Going to take a little time, Diego said.
Yeah. Get some sleep, Diego. Let the birds watch.
Rubin closed his eyes and let his body rest. That was another thing he’d learned at a very young age. Sleep when he could, especially when hunting human vermin. One often had to travel under the cover of darkness, and he learned he would have to exist on one or two hours of sleep. He could close his eyes and still be aware of danger. Like the great horned owl, he concealed himself in the trees and stayed very still, but he slept, waiting for Diego’s songbird to return. He’d told Diego to let the birds watch for them, and they would, but both men would have their radars set to warn them just in case. They never left anything to chance.