“Where are you from, Prairie?” I ask her.
Tears well up in her eyes. “It's kind of a long story. If I start telling you, I feel like you're going to take me away from here and I'm going to have to go to the police or the hospital and…” She swallows and closes her eyes.
I don't want her to close them. I want them wide open. Because when she looks at me, I feel like she sees my soul. And it’s been a long time since I've wanted anyone to see what's inside me.
“Right now, what do you need?” I ask her. “Right this minute?”
“I need you to hold me,” she says. “Just hold me, Rye. Just hold me and don't let go.”
4
PRAIRIE
Rye hashis arms wrapped around me, and I breathe him in, the scent of a man. Areal man. It's been so long since I've been close to anyone, touched another human's hand, heard their heartbeat.
I run my fingers through his hair, unable to help myself.
I breathe him in,not caring if I'm crossing lines, breaking boundaries. I just want to be in this moment, touching another living person.
His eyes find mine. “Prairie,” he says. “What happened? Why were you running through the woods? You don't have on any shoes. You're not wearing a coat. Your clothes are really rags. You've been in trouble. You need to tell me what happened to you.” His voice is firm, steady, strong.
I know in that instant, as crazy as it might sound, that I can rely on this man.
That I can trust him.
I have no reason to. And maybe that innocence and naivety is what got me into trouble in the first place.
But he is not dangerous. I know that by his touch.
“Tell me, Prairie. You're starting to worry me, and I need to know that you are okay. That we're going to be okay.”
I blink back the tears that fill my eyes as I run my hand down his chest. He's still kneeling before me. As if paying penance, ready to say a prayer, ask forgiveness for something—but he hasn't done anything wrong.
The people who held me captive, they are the ones who should pay.
I lick my lips, looking for words. I shiver, cold from head to toe.
Rye stands. “I need to start us a fire. It's not warm enough in here for you. You're freezing,” he says.
He reaches for a wool blanket and wraps it around my shoulders. “Don't move,” he says.
I nod, trembling as he goes out to the front porch. He carries in a stack of firewood, then he puts on a shirt that was atop the pile. There's a wood-burning stove in the corner of the room and he begins to build a fire, striking a match then adding kindling. I watch as the blaze begins to burn.
He turns to me after he closes the door on the stove. “It'll warm up here real quick. I'm sorry there wasn't a fire already going,” he shrugs. “I live down in Home. Came up here for a few weeks to clear my head. If you had come through the clearing even a few hours earlier, I wouldn't have been here. I wouldn't have found you. The timing…” He shakes his head, running a hand over his beard. “The timing was…”
“Like fate?” I ask. The two words hang in the air as he stares back at me. Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Fate.” He reaches for the flask in his back pocket. “Do you need a strong drink before you tell me the truth of what's happened to you?”
I shake my head. “I've never had a lick of alcohol in my life.” I tell him.
His eyes narrow. “How old are you?”
“I'm 22,” I tell him. “What about you?”
“I'm 28,” he says.
I nod, slowly taking the information in. “I’m so lucky to have found you,” I tell him. My voice cracks as I look him over, feeling like he is my protector. “I know I can trust you.”
Then the words begin tumbling out. The words I've been holding in for so long, so many years. I tell him where I was, in the woods with Marjorie and Horace. How they kept me as their daughter, locked in a room.