Nora
The kerosene lamp light casts a soft glow over my room. I pull out my notebook and a pen.
Dear Aub,
There is an outhouse.
Did you read that? I’m dead serious. I have been using an outhouse for the last two weeks. I mean, I knew there wasn’t running water but I guess I just didn’t take the time to put two and two together, that there wouldn’t be a bathroom inside the cabin. Holden said we’d run into town tomorrow, so I figured it was time to write you a letter.
Where to start? I’ll dive into the facts first. There is a well with a hand pump on it. That’s where the water comes from. Thank God you suggested I bring that pack of baby wipes, otherwise I would be pungent right now. Surprisingly, being without technology is not the worst thing to ever happen to me. I think the lack of running water is the hardest thing to get used to. You can’t just fill a glass of water at the sink or rinse a dish when you’re done with it. It’s strange. The lack of electricity is less tough to adjust to because he has a plethora of kerosene lamps in the cabin. Oh yes, that’s right . . . it’s a cabin. It’s hot during the day, and cold at night and more so in my room because it’s not actually a room- I suspect it was a woodshed at one point that he converted to a bedroom.
Lotte is adorable. She dresses like a character from Little House on the Prairie. I might suggest to Holden that he grab her some new clothes. And sometimes I wonder about her and Holden’s relationship. He’s strict and domineering to her but so incredibly sweet to me. He barely lets me help out at all. Sometimes I watch him. He’s so handsome and otherworldly. Almost like he wouldn’t survive in the real world because he’s made for this place he calls home. Let me tell you, Aub, it is stunning here. The mountains look beautiful, like a postcard, and I am in love. Gorgeous. Exquisite. It’s so peaceful. The only sounds are that of nature or the three of us. From the top of a nearby gorge, you can see for miles. I really think you would love it.
I’m sure you are reading between the lines of this letter, so I won’t keep you in suspense. Yes, Holden is good looking. Yes, he is sometimes flirty. No, nothing has happened . . . but I do catch myself thinking about him often. So, maybe I have developed a little crush. But you know me. I will keep it strictly professional because I’m an inexperienced nerd.
You better not be throwing parties at my house every night. Please remember to water my plants.
Miss you.
Xoxo
Nora
P.S. I hope you noted the lack of large words in this letter :)
I fold the letter up and for safe measure, since I’m paranoid Holden will somehow be able to see the words, wrap another sheet of paper around it before putting it into one of the envelopes Angela sent with me in my notebook. I turn off the lantern and tuck myself in. Today, Holden had been at it again with the hammer. He’d mentioned he was building a proper guest house. I’d smiled and watched him from the front porch with a glass of iced tea. I close my eyes against the unprecedented desire to feel his beard. To run my fingers through his long hair. The longer I watched him, the more curious I became to know what those muscles on his arms would feel like under my fingers. I adjust my blankets and roll on my side. I fall asleep thinking about Holden’s full lips and defined muscles.
The drive to town is slow and long but Holden sings along to the radio. His voice is baritone and manly. I try not to stare at him, so instead I stare out the truck window at the passing scenery. He hits a bump in the dirt road a little too fast and I fly upward and knock my head on the ceiling of the cab. His hand is instantly on my thigh. My bare thigh. His palm pushes down, fingers spread wide. His hand is so big. Rough against my skin. My eyes fly to him. He looks straight ahead. Keeps one hand on the steering wheel. “Sorry, that was a rough spot.”
I titter out a laugh as if it were nothing, while secretly wishing he’d speed up a little and repeat the hand on thigh gesture. It was sweet. A considerate gesture of protection and it didn’t freak me out. I’ve had a lot of time to repress the memory of Anton and the night of the party and I feel like Holden is a gentleman. He’s definitely forward, but in a genuine way. I don’t feel as though he’s hiding any wayward intentions.
By the time we arrive in Pocketville, it’s almost noon. Holden runs me to the post office so I can mail my letter.
“That’s 42 cents,” the clerk says. I hand over two quarters with a shy smile. The clerk takes the money and reaches for the letter but I slap my hand down on it.
“Oh! Wait. Holden, I need to put a return address on it.” Holden grins and tells me the P.O. Box number and zip code. He grabs his mail from his box before we leave.
“Hey, have you considered getting Lotte some . . . new clothes?” I ask, as we wander down the sidewalk of the small main street together.
“She’s got plenty,” he says.
“I was just thinking, they’re all a little dated. Maybe she’d like some leggings or pants. She seems to only have skirts.”
Holden stops and I halt my pace and turn to face him. His eyes drink me in and I feel my cheeks turn crimson. “I like the way Lotte dresses. It’s wholesome,” he finally says.
I nod and laugh, feeling slightly daring. “If she were in the eighteen hundreds.” Holden cocks his head and his eyes flash. “Sorry. I . . . I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “Let’s get you some shampoo. I need to pick up a few other things, too, before we head back. Lotte shouldn’t be left alone for too long.”
“Why don’t you bring her with you?” I ask, as he and I walk hand in hand into a small supermarket.
He drops my hand and I’m almost sad about it. I liked the way my hand felt in his. “Because townies talk and I hate talk.”
As I follow him down an aisle, I mutter, “Me, too.” And I do. I was always too busy entertaining myself to need to talk a lot. Maybe that’s why I’ve acclimated so well to Holden’s farm. Outside of Lotte chattering away during our explorations, it’s quiet and I’m comfortable with quiet. Holden lifts a strand of my hair and rubs it between his fingers. It’s an odd thing to do but I don’t question it. He looks over the shelves before us until he picks up one bottle of shampoo.
“This one,” he says and I find myself embarrassed. I anticipated picking out my own shampoo and it unnerves me that he’s gone and done it for me. I take the bottle from him and utter a thank you. Holden doesn’t say another word. When we check out, I grab a few bags of M&M’s for Lotte and a travel sized first aid kit. I’d noticed they didn’t have much to treat blisters and little scrapes at the cabin. Holden paid for my shampoo, said it was his pleasure to treat me. While he drives to the feed store, I examine the bottle. Strawberry scented. I don’t like scented shampoo.
He stabs the shovel into the bagged grain and twitches it, sending grain flying at me. I laugh and duck. The sales clerk hollers for him to watch it. While he’s distracted, I grab a handful and dart around him. Pulling the back of his shirt away from his neck, I release the grain. Holden bellows and spins around. “You’ll pay for that one, Nora.”
I turn and run for the truck, laughing the whole way. After he pays and loads the back of the truck, he hops in, all smiles. “I should make you clean me off. That should be your punishment for dumping that down my shirt.”
I turn eight shades of red and fold my hands in my lap. Holden reaches across the seats and puts his hand on top of mine. “I’m just kidding, Nora, relax.”