The Waltons and its characters are property of Earl Hamner, Jr., and all legal copyright holders. This story is not intended to infringe upon the rights of any copyright holder.
“Keep up, Corabeth. We don’t want to lose the light.”
Corabeth sighed, tugged at the old pair of Frank’s trousers she wore cinched at the waist, and followed the older man into the crevasse. She was getting used to lugging the measuring equipment around, but she still couldn’t go as far or as fast as he could. And then, she thought peevishly, there was her ridiculous need to rest more than once every eight hours.
She was grateful for the work. She even enjoyed getting out into the open again. But she lacked the focus he had for this kind of work, and he resented any need on her part for rest or distraction.
“Give me the camera,” he said, reaching up to take it from her. He placed the bulky instrument further into the crevasse, then gave her a hand down. “Careful. It’s slippery there.”
Corabeth took the hand reluctantly and climbed the last few steps down. Once on firm ground, she released his grasp and quickly set to work setting up the camera. She had learned, to her surprise, that she had a good grasp of mechanical things. At first, Daniel had only wanted her to take notes. But after a few days, he’d begun explaining his work to her, the different types of rocks, their history--he’d even let her take a few pictures.
“Take a look at this, Corabeth.” He was pointing to a sheared rock which jutted out over the narrow path. “The strata are perfect. Bring the camera; let’s see if we can get a good shot of it.”
She hurried to his side, lugging the camera and stand. “I don’t know if we have enough light.” She followed his gaze. The rock was impressive, as far as rocks went. Layer after layer of different colored strata gave a perfectly preserved picture, as Daniel had said, of the rock’s journey through time.
“Let me see.” He stepped beside her, taking a look through the eye piece. “Maybe...” he said under his breath. “Get the flash.”
“There’s not enough room.”
“Just get it. We can try.” As Corabeth shrugged and headed back up the path, a cloud floated above them, effectively blocking out what little sunlight remained in the crevasse. Daniel’s frustrated groan stopped her in her tracks. “Never mind, Corabeth. We’ll just have to come back tomorrow.”
She leaned against a rock, secretly glad of the shade. Every part of her body ached from carrying and climbing and standing still and hurrying up. Daniel sat on the rock beside her, pulling out a canteen of water. He took a sip, then offered her some. She took it, forgetting the modesty that had plagued her when she first started working for him.
“I’m sorry about the flash,” she said quietly.
“That’s okay. You were right. I don’t think we could have wedged it in here.” He stretched his shoulders and upper back, dropping his head backwards in an effort to loosen the muscles in his neck. “Still, we had a good day.”
“Yes.” Now that she had stopped moving, Corabeth was getting cold. She wrapped her arms around her, rocking gently.
“Cold?”
She smiled, amazed he’d even noticed her, what with being surrounded by all this exposed sedimentary rock. “A little,” she admitted.
He removed his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “We should start getting back,” he said. He might as well have been a four-year-old saying, “We better give back all these birthday presents.”
She nodded, but made no move to start packing up.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered, looking up from the bottom of the crevasse. This far up on the mountain, the vegetation was thinner, exposing more of the rock surface. With the sun going down, the formations took on a life of their own, shadow and substance merging into a stark beauty.
“Why, yes. I believe it is rather pretty.”
He studied her for a moment, saying nothing. Then he smiled, and started packing up the gear.
The store had only been closed ten minutes when Ike heard Corabeth puttering around in the kitchen. He hurried through the receipts, figuring he’d count the change in the morning, then went into the house.
“Honey, what are you doing?”
She was seated on the kitchen floor, surrounded by pots and pans of varying sizes. “I’m reorganizing the kitchen. It is a complete mess.”
“At this time of night?”
“I couldn’t find the double-boiler. I felt the sudden urge for chocolate mousse, but you can’t make chocolate mousse without a double-boiler.”
Ike stared as she sifted through cabinet after cabinet, pulling things out with abandon. Two weeks ago, it had been a knitting needle. Now, the kitchen would probably wind up in the same disastrous state as her sewing room. “Sweetheart, why don’t we go out for dinner? There’s a new restaurant in Rockfish--I’m sure they could make chocolate mousse for you.”
“However did this kitchen get into such a state?” She ignored his offer, continuing with her search.
Ike sighed. It was no use trying when she got this way. He’d hoped they would get through today without some sort of scene. He’d hoped she’d forget it was Aimee’s birthday. He hadn’t even bothered to mention it, although ten months ago he might’ve tried to use it to prompt a reconciliation. But Corabeth’s manner had become more erratic than ever. He was beginning to get scared.
“Permian, Cretaceous...” Corabeth blinked hard as Daniel opened the front door to the house. “Triassic--”
“Jurassic, then Triassic.” He held the door for her as she struggled to get her gear inside without dropping anything.
“Jurassic, then Triassic. How do you remember them all?”
“At first, it was simple mnemonics--I just made a sentence out of the first letters of each--”
“Corabeth.” Their lesson screeched to a halt at the sound of her mother’s voice. Amelia Walton had walked in from the study, leading a stern but well-dressed middle-aged woman into the sitting room. “Corabeth, I’d like you to meet Miss Eleanor Stanton, our new guest. Miss Stanton,” she paused, looking with some disdain at Corabeth’s dirty face and clothes. “This is my daughter, Corabeth.”
Eleanor looked down the angular length of her nose, taking in the younger woman’s appearance with interest. “A pleasure, of course, Miss Walton.”
Corabeth could not have felt smaller at that moment if a sink hole had opened beneath her feet and swallowed her alive. She was suddenly aware of every speck of dirt, every scuff on the worn work boots, and every rumple in the faded khakis she wore. About half-way through the day, she’d tied her hair back using one of Papa’s old handkerchiefs. She must look like some transient field worker. Covered with dirt and wearing men’s clothing, Corabeth felt completely undressed in front of the fashionable Miss Stanton. “How do you do?” she whispered, eyes dropping to the floor.
“And our other boarder, Mr. Dechaine.” If her mother was at all embarrassed over her daughter’s unkempt appearance, she managed to keep it under the surface.
Daniel held out his hand to the newcomer; then, realizing it was practically black with dirt, he smiled and pulled it back. “I apologize for our appearance, Miss Stanton. Miss Walton has been assisting me in my work.”
Miss Stanton never ceased her inspection of the pair. “Indeed, Mr. Dechaine. And what sort of work is that?”
“I am studying the geology of this area of the foothills. Miss Walton is my assistant.”
“We fell into a stream,” Corabeth added apologetically to her mother. “One of the rocks came loose and--”
“Never mind about that, Corabeth. Please go clean up for supper.” With a final severe look, Mrs. Walton gathered up the new boarder to continue the tour.
“Here.” Daniel took the supplies from her. “I’ll pick these up. You go ahead now.”
Corabeth felt her heart sinking. How could it be that one minute she felt so completely alive, and the next she felt so terrible? “I can do it,” she protested.
Daniel took her chin in his hand, lifting her face until she looked him in the eyes. “Of course you can, Corabeth. But you’ve earned a break. Besides, we wouldn’t want to shock poor Miss Stanton, now would we?” His green eyes sparkled conspiratorially, and Corabeth felt the elation return. She could hardly control her own grin as she blushed and ran up the stairs.
She felt better after the bath. Corabeth sat at her vanity, cooling off in her chemise. As she brushed the damp strands of her hair, she couldn’t help noticing the color in her cheeks, the tautness of her skin. She felt fitter and more vibrant than she had in years. She stared at her own image in the mirror--blue eyes sparkling, figure trim and healthy. She hardly recognized herself.
With a lazy sigh, she began to powder her shoulders and throat. The chemise was extremely sheer; in the lamplight, it seemed almost transparent. She traced the puff down the curve of one breast, enjoying the delicate feel of the powder against her skin. Leaning over, she bit her lower lip to give it some color. Better.
She stood, still looking at her own reflection. The lamp flickered behind her, outlining her body in gold shimmering light. She smoothed her hands down her torso, following the curves of her own body, enjoying the sight.
She turned, holding the chemise flat against her stomach as she examined her profile. She was beginning to--
“Corabeth.”
Guilty, she quickly threw on her robe. “Come in, Mother.”
Mrs. Walton entered the room, taking in everything in one single, shrewd glance. “Corabeth,” she said without preamble. “I wish to talk to you about a matter of great importance.”
Corabeth sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly nervous. “What is it, Mama?”
“Well,” her mother seemed to falter, but recovered quickly. “Corabeth, Miss Stanton has agreed to stay with us for some time. She is a teacher for the Academy, and will be here for the duration of the semester.”
“That’s wonderful, Mama.”
“In light of this, I feel it is time you discontinued your work with Mr. Dechaine.” At her daughter’s look of protest, she raised a single hand and continued, “Corabeth, I appreciate the sacrifice you have made. With Mr. Comden leaving so suddenly, I don’t know how we would’ve made it without your income. But now--”
“Mama, I don’t mind. Really. I’m learning so much, and--”
“Corabeth, we have to think about your future. I simply cannot have you traipsing all over the mountains with an unattached man. People are beginning to talk.”
“Let them talk.”
“Corabeth!”
Corabeth dropped her face into her hands. This couldn’t be happening. “Mama, I like working for Daniel. It’s interesting, and I feel like I’m contributing. Three dollars a week is a fortune....we could put some aside, maybe do some repairs on the house.”
“I will not let you continue this for three hundred dollars a week, child. Not another word on the subject.”
“I’m not quitting, Mother.”
For a moment, Corabeth wasn’t sure who was more shocked by the defiant statement. “You are living under my roof,” her mother said darkly. “You will do as I wish.”
“Three dollars a week would more than pay for a room in town, Mama.”
“I forbid it.”
“You can’t forbid it. I’m twenty-two years old. I’m earning my own money. And if I want to move out, I will move out.”
Her mother sat hard on the bed, just as Corabeth had popped to her feet. “I am stunned; no, outraged at your ingratitude. Don’t you care anything about me? About our family’s reputation? Are you determined to follow in your sister’s footsteps and disgrace us all?”
Corabeth fought the stinging tears in her eyes. She was not going to back down on this, no matter what her mother said. “Mama, I don’t want to disgrace the family. But I--I have to do this.” How could she make her mother understand how important her work was to her? She couldn’t imagine going back to the way it was before. “Mama, please!”
Her mother shook her head. “I cannot allow it.” But her resolve seemed weaker.
Corabeth, seeing the opportunity, seized it. “Mama, I don’t want to have to move out. I want to stay here and help you. But you know we need the money more than you need another woman around the house. Eileen can handle the kitchen, and I’ll still do my share of the housework. Think of how nice it will be to have the security of a second income. You won’t have to worry so much.”
“It’s not about the money, child. It has never been about the money.”
Corabeth dropped to her knees, taking the older woman’s hands in her own. “Please, Mama. Please. I’ve never asked for anything, not since Papa died. Please let me do this.”
“I won’t have you moving out of this house.”
“No, Mama. I’ll stay right here with you. Just let me continue with my work. Please.”
Beaten, her mother nodded her head. “Let us both pray that we do not come to regret this decision.”
“So. You defied your mother and continued working for him.”
“I just said that.”
Dr. Marshall scribbled something on his pad. “If I’m correct, this is the first time you went against your mother’s wishes since the night of your father’s death. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Corabeth examined the pointed toe of her dress shoes. She didn’t want to continue with this story. She wanted nothing more than to get into her Chrysler and head straight back to the General Mercantile. But she still had another twenty minutes to go.
“And what happened?”
Corabeth took a deep breath and continued. “We continued working together well into the summer. By June, I was completely infatuated with Daniel.”
“Careful.” Daniel held the lantern up, illuminating the uneven path leading into the cavern. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
He grinned. “Even if it weren’t, this is worth the risk.” At her horrified look, Dechaine laughed. “Of course it’s safe. Come on, follow me.”
Shaking her head, she followed him deeper into the cave. At one point, the ceiling stood so low she had to stoop to get through. Eventually, it opened into a larger section and she was able to stand upright. “So what did you want to show me?”
“Over here. Kneel down.” He held the light up to the wall of the cave, gesturing to a tiny blotch on a rock. “Look. Isn’t it amazing?”
Corabeth squinted, unable to distinguish this patch of dirty rock from the next patch. “What is it?” He adjusted the light, and Corabeth realized it was a drawing of some sort of animal. “Oh, my.”
“Who knows how long it’s been here. I’ve got a colleague in the anthropology department at William and Mary who specializes in cave paintings. He’ll want to take a look at it.”
“But where did it come from?”
“It was probably painted by the medicine man...or woman.. of one of the indigenous tribes who lived here before the Europeans took over. Anthropology is not my specialty, but I’m sure it is at least several hundred--if not thousand--years old.”
“Really?” Corabeth sat back on her heels, staring at the drawing. “Amazing.”
“There it is, Corabeth. The one thing that distinguishes us from the animals. From the dawn of civilization, humans have had a need to create. Savage though they were, our ancestors still found time to create a work of art that lasted to this very day.”
“You’re not going to launch into another discussion on the works of Mr. Darwin, are you?” she teased.
“Corabeth, how can you be so modern in so many ways, but so archaic in this matter?”
“I am not archaic. I simply said that Mr. Darwin’s theories have yet to be proven to my satisfaction. He may believe his family descended from monkeys, but I hardly find that a palateable idea.” She laughed. Even in this light, Daniel’s look of utter frustration amused her. “Besides, human beings are very different from animals.”
“Not so different as you might think.”
“Speak for yourself, Mr. Dechaine.”
“Humans have the same instincts as animals, Corabeth. I can prove it to you.”
“Can you?” She tossed him a challenging look. “Really?”
“Turn around.”
“What?”
He grasped her shoulders firmly, turning her untll her back was to him. “You wanted me to prove it to you. I’m proving it to you.”
“All right.” She sat back on her heels, waiting for him to continue. “Prove it.” She waited, but Daniel made no move. She waited longer; still nothing. The cavern’s air was chilly, musty. A draft sent a chill down her spine as Daniel knelt behind her, staring. “Daniel?”
Before she knew what happened, his arm whipped out, wrapping around her waist and pulling her backwards. Corabeth let out a yelp as she snapped her arms upward in self-defense. “Why did you do that?” Her blood was racing through her veins, and she struggled to calm her breathing.
“To prove that you do have instincts.” Daniel pulled her closer, his arms still wrapped about her waist. “When I made you turn your back, your instincts kicked in. Somewhere in your genetic past, a distant ancestor survived an attack because he or she was smart enough to be nervous when a predator was watching. Because you got nervous, your adrenaline started pumping. Your body became alert. And when I attacked, you immediately reacted.”
“Anyone would react if a person flew at her that way.” She heard the quiver in her voice. She considered turning around, or standing and going back into the open, but Daniel had a firm grip on her waist.
“There are two vulnerable spots on an animal’s--any animal’s--body. The first is the neck, which contains the jugular.” He traced the finger of his free hand down the curve of her neck, sending chills throughout her body. “The second spot is the stomach. It contains all sorts of tasty organs a predator would love to have for dinner. When I attacked you, you immediately hunched your shoulders and doubled over to protect your stomach. You didn’t think. You just did it, instinctively.”
“That...that means nothing,” she whispered. He was rubbing gently, up and down the length of her stomach. Her eyelids dropped, heavy and languid, and she leaned back against him. “Nothing at all.”
He began kissing her neck. “It works both ways. Just as an animal will protect these vulnerable spots from a predator, it will actually offer them to a potential mate as a sign of trust.” His massaging hand pressed harder against her belly as his lips and tongue tickled the soft skin just behind her ear. “The nerve endings that contract to protect the species are the same nerve endings that create the pleasure which encourages the species to procreate.” His hand moved upwards to caress the outline of her breast. “It’s a very efficient system, actually.”
Corabeth could hardly breathe. She knew she should stop this, that it could not possibly lead to anything decent, but she couldn’t help herself. “All this proves is that human beings have nerve endings,” she teased.
“Still not convinced?” Daniel trailed his hand down her belly and gently parted her thighs. “There is a vein right here,” he said, tracing her inner thigh. “If an animal were to sink its teeth into that vein,” he pressed down firmly, sending a mild burst of discomfort through her. “You’d bleed to death before I could get you down the mountain. But if a lover stroked you there....”
“Danny,” she whispered.
“If a lover stroked you there,” he continued, caressing her inner thigh with the tips of his fingers. “You would find it quite pleasurable.”
“Danny, please.”
His hand moved slightly, softly covering the sensitive area at the juncture of her thighs. Corabeth gasped, but made no move to stop him. “Nature is a very clever force. There really is only one true goal in nature, and that’s survival. In order to ensure survival, nature makes danger painful and procreation pleasurable.”
She could barely think now. His hand on her private area was the only important thing in the world. Even his teeth gently grazing her throat, the warmth of his chest against her back, the soft sound of his breath in her ear--even these faded in comparison to that thrilling touch. “Danny, please!”
“Please what?” he growled against her neck.
At that moment, all sense abandoned her. “I don’t know,” she whispered as she turned in to meet his hard kiss. “I don’t know,” she repeated over and over as he unbuttoned her faded khaki shirt, trailing kisses down her throat and breasts. “I don’t know,” as he eased her trousers down over the dirty boots she wore.
She barely noticed the gritty cold surface of the cave floor as he lay her onto her back and began to remove his own clothing. His body reflected the lamplight like a statue. Corabeth held her breath at the sight of him.
She should stop this. She had to stop this. But she lay there, mute and dazed as he revealed himself to her. He was beautiful. Corabeth had never seen anything or anyone so beautiful as this man before her. She knew as he knelt above her, muscles glistening in the golden light of the kerosene lamp, that she would let him do anything he wanted to her.
“Heard on CBS that there’s a chance of snow around Halloween, Mr. Godsey.” Len Maxwell leaned back in the mail truck. “Though ya can’t really trust those guys on TV. I swear, sometimes I think they just put their heads out the window and make things up.”
Ike pulled his collar up around his neck, bracing himself against the chilled air. “Just what we need,” he said as he started to pump the gas. “An early winter.”
“Makes my job harder, that’s for sure. Just two dollars’ worth, okay?”
“Sure thing.” He took the crumpled bills in one hand as Len put a stack of mail in the other. “You keep warm, ya hear?”
“You betcha.”
Ike sifted through the letters as he climbed the porch steps into the store. Nothing interesting, really. Just the regular mail for the regular people.
A blue envelope addressed with his name caught Ike’s attention. He checked the return address and stopped in his tracks. It was from Aimee. She hadn’t written to them in almost a year--since Corabeth scrawled “Return to Sender” on the birthday card Aimee had sent her and threw it into the box.
He considered ripping it open and reading it right there on the porch, but he wanted to give his wife the chance to read it first...if she would. He bounded up the last two steps and into the store. “Watch the front for a minute, will you, Jake?” he said to the young clerk before heading into the house.
He found her curled on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her and an untouched cup of tea getting cold on the coffee table.
“Corabeth, honey.” He put the unsorted mail on the table and pulled a chair up next to her. “Look what we got in the mail. It’s a letter from Aimee.”
She stared at him coldly. “Aimee who?”
Ike counted to ten before answering. “Corabeth,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t do this to me. It’s the first letter we’ve received from her in months. The least you can do is read it.”
His words just seemed to bounce off of her icy demeanor.
“Sweetheart, please.”
She picked up the book of Longfellow she’d been ignoring and opened it to a random page. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Godsey, I’m quite busy.”
“Fine!” Ike snapped the book out of her hand. “But you might get further if you read it right side up!”
He slammed the bedroom door shut behind him, and sat on the bed to read the letter.
Dear Mama and Daddy:
It’s taken me a long time to decide to send this letter. After the last time, I figured you guys had written me off for good. Maybe that’s still the case. It doesn’t matter. I’m not writing this letter for you; I’m writing it for me.
You see, when Mama sent back her birthday card, I was furious. I swore I would never make the first move again, that I could be just as stubborn as she could. I didn’t care if I ever saw or heard from you again. It’s amazing what will make you forget your pride.
In January, I got pregnant. I wanted to call and tell you. I wanted to let you know that I was bringing your grandchild into the world. But, remember, I was going to be just as stubborn as Mama. So I didn’t call. And, without your ever even knowing she was coming, your granddaughter was born...two weeks premature.
Beth (not Corabeth, not Elizabeth...just Beth) was born with a very weak heart and weighed only three pounds at birth. The doctors didn’t think she’d make it through. I prayed and prayed, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, on a terrible night when it seemed she wouldn’t make it till dawn, I swore to God that I would write to you if only Bethie would live.
Well, she lived. And I am not about to default on my promise to the Almighty. Beth is now three months old and weighs five pounds, seven ounces. She has bright blue eyes and very fine angel hair. She smiles often.
If this letter comes back unopened, I can tell God honestly that I tried.
Sincerely,
Aimee G. Harper
Ike read the letter again, his heart pounding. He didn’t know what to feel. He was a grandfather. He had a baby granddaughter. Whom he had never seen, and might never see. Tears welled up in his eyes. He had to do something. He just had to do something. His family was falling apart before his eyes.
He stared at the door to the living room. He should go out there and force her to read the letter. “No,” he whispered. That wouldn’t work. The tears began to fall. He had to do something.
Part 3
