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Honeymoon Inn By Kyrie Hobson As the sheets of rain swept off the roof, they were split by the various gables and finials into translucent curtains. The light, but growing sleet added a glisten to the otherwise grey view. The scene would have been romantic, had I been here with a girl. But I wasn't. "This is just fantastic," Soren said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "what a great fucking idea. Why do we even listen to you, Kevin?" It actually had been a good idea. The software company we had started together was bought out by one of its giant competitors before we'd even considered an IPO. We were all very rich, fairly young men, and Kevin had suggested that we go on one last outing before we went our separate ways. It was early November and we decided to hike through the Ouachita Mountains in southwest Arkansas. We were all experienced hikers; we had first met in college when Kevin had organized a four-day trek through Guadalupe National Park in Texas, and had gone on several multi-day hikes all over the country, in fair weather and foul, since then. The route we chose, after much discussion and consultation with topographical maps and satellite photos, was a marked trail running almost throughout the forest. It followed what had been a CCC service road that was occasionally preserved through use as a county highway. Through a series of convenient switchbacks and curves, it followed a more or less even path between the peak ridges and the deep valleys below. Late in the morning of the third day of the hike we passed a small side-trail, barely more than a deer trail, and Kevin suggested we give it a try. The rest of us were dubious; we'd been making good time already, and this path looked like it would bog us down unnecessarily. When Kevin showed us on the map how the main trail made a wide loop around two peaks, however, and pointed out that this path seemed to descend into the valley between them and back up, cutting off a solid fifty miles of trail, we began to soften to his suggestion. There was a two post sign nearby, but it was old and worn and all we could read of it was "Honey". Ike said he'd heard of an old park trail called the Honey Bear Trail, but he wasn't sure where it was, so this might be it, park maintenance not being what it used to be. Soren caught my eye and I shrugged. As Ike and Kevin stepped into the brushy trail, we followed. We were relieved to find that the trail widened after only a few yards, and after a few more, it became recognizable as a vehicle track, though one that neglect and disuse had almost eradicated. Trees had sprouted here and there along its length, and while none of them were a match for the ancient walnuts and hawthorns of the forest, they were all well past sapling age. I had a feeling it had been a long time since anyone on two legs had ventured down this road. Despite its disrepair, the road was a more or less even footpath. It descended in long, lazy runs, reversing occasionally in wide, leisurely switchbacks, and we made good time. I took us less than an hour to descend below the forest and into the valley proper, a gently- sloping dell cut through the middle by a small ravine. The road wound down to this and stopped at a pair of posterns, the forgotten supports of a long broken and abandoned bridge. The gap was neither wide nor deep. Soren, who has an eye for spatial relationships, guessed that it was maybe ten feet deep and twenty across. A trickle of a stream ran at the bottom. It had been a dry autumn, so far, and there had been very little runoff from the slopes above to keep the stream deep and running. Our side was climbable?just?but the other side was almost sloped, with plenty of handholds among the chert and limestone. We all looked searchingly into the sky, especially up the valley at the mountain peaks; we'd heard too many horror stories of hikers being swept away by flash floods from far off squalls. Sensing our hesitation, Kevin handed me his pack and started climbing down into the creek bed. Shrugging, Ike handed his pack to Soren and followed. Our company had been a success because of who we are. It certainly wasn't the product. We made third-party software for use with the big-name office suites; our first piece had been put together as a computer science project in college--a simple program that organized research into outlines to make report-writing easier. It not only earned our group an "A", it was immediately in demand across the campus. Kevin had suggested we incorporate and take advantage of our obvious chemistry, and we did, selling utility programs locally an online through our college years. Almost all of the ideas were Kevin's. Okay, to be fair we all had them, but Kevin acted on them. He was the driving force behind everything we did. His rare combination of intelligence, charisma and decisiveness would have made him a legendary general or world leader, had those been his paths. But he was well on his way to becoming a legendary business leader, and he was pulling the rest of us in his wake. Not that we didn't contribute. Ike was frighteningly smart. He had instant access to any number of facts and associations, some of which would just pop up at exactly the right time. More than that, he could read people and was skilled at smoothing issues caused by Kevin's direct attitudes. Soren was the artist. He designed the front ends that made our software easy to use and pleasing to the eye. He also designed our website and ads for maximum product placement with minimum intrusiveness. I was the organizer. I'd spend long nights rearranging and structuring the thousands of lines of spaghetti code that would result from the synthesis of Ike and Kevin's genius, then help Soren arrange his pages so that there would be function in all of the beauty. I also tended to do all of the cooking for our crew when we were out on the trail. My actual degree was in hotel and restaurant management, and I had hoped to turn that into a life running a moderately successful bed and breakfast in a small town somewhere. Ike and Kevin had wangled transition contracts so they could ensure that our few employees were treated properly as our company was absorbed into our former rival. Soren and I had been given huge checks and the rest of our lives to use them fulfilling our own dreams. Getting up the far side proved somewhat more difficult than we had expected, and it took us nearly an hour. By the time I was up and arranging my pack, the sun was sinking, and it looked like clouds were gathering. The slope on this side of the valley was more gradual, and the road ran more or less straight up its bank toward a high bluff. We hoped the ridge would give us some cover if it decided to rain. We were well up the slope when the first drops fell?-thick, heavy spatters spread well apart, but promising more serious rainfall. We stepped up our pace and almost missed the sign. It was lying face down in the grass by the path side, and we'd have walked right past it had Ike not stubbed his toe on it. Out of curiosity we flipped it over. "Welcome to the Honeymoon Inn," it said. "So much for the Honey Bear Trail," Soren commented. "Who'd put a hotel way out here?" I asked. "Arkansas used to be famous for its country-living resorts," Ike said, "especially around the twenties and during the depression." "Well, it's not on any of the maps," Kevin remarked. He brought his gps sat-phone out of his pack. "Hmm...that's odd." We all looked at him querulously. "No reception. Not even a location. We may as well have fallen off the planet." "Great," Soren grumbled as the rain began to pick up. "Let's keep going," Kevin decided. "Maybe there are some remains we can use as a shelter." The path took a double s-curve around some rocky knolls. By now the rain was pouring down on us, but that didn't prevent the sight that greeted us from stopping us in our tracks. A huge resort with a large main lodge, several cabins and assorted outbuildings nestled in a stand of ancient hardwoods beneath the shelter of the bluff. They all needed paint, and a few windows had broken in some of the cabins, but the place otherwise looked as sturdy as the day it was built. "Holy cats," Ike said. The rest of us nodded agreement and broke into a run toward the covered entryway. As we crowded on the porch, Kevin tried the door, and, to everyone's surprised, the knob turned easily and the door swung open. I switched on my flashlight and swung the beam to the wall by the door to confirm what my searching hand had told me. A brass key with an ornate handle extended from a small panel in the wall. "Key valve," Soren commented. "So?" I asked. "The lights are gas. The key can be pulled out and taken to other valves and inserted to turn on and adjust the flame?-probably just a few key rooms and the hallways. It was like those light switches you see in public buildings that you have to have a special tool to use." "Which means?" "This place was built around the end of the nineteenth century, and it hasn't been occupied for a very long time," he explained didactically. "Anyone who could afford gas way out here would have updated to electric when it became available. Gas was dangerous?-fires, CO2 poisonings, that kind of thing." "Why would they leave the key in the valve?" "Got me, maybe they were closing the place up and wanted it to be found easily by the next occupants." "But if they were closing up, why didn't they lock the door?" That earned me a few seconds of silent thought from the others. Kevin, in the meantime, had fished out his flashlight and cranked the hand generator on it. The other two followed suit. While Ike and Soren further investigated our immediate surroundings, Kevin and I shone our lights into the next room, a well-appointed parlor. "Wow," we both said at the same time, stepping through. Most of the room was covered in thick linen sheets, and the rest was buried under a measurable layer of dust, but what was left betrayed the grandeur of what the room once was. Glass-chimneyed sconces lined the walls and a large chandelier descended from the ceiling. As our beams hit them, they were flashed back at us by brief glints of gold leaf. Thick brocade curtains covered the windows and I moved to open them and let the last of the day's waning light in and save our flashlights. The floor was covered with a giant hand-woven carpet, its intricate design interlaced with?-I wasn't sure, but I felt vaguely embarrassed to be looking at it. Near the back of the room, on the far side of a large welcoming marble fireplace, sat a small desk and a pigeon-hole cabinet, its nooks filled with carefully-arranged room keys, the only sign that this was once a resort. Archways opened off the left wall, which Soren guessed were the smoking room and the ladies' tea room, while a wide arch led into the dining room at the back. A wide staircase mounted the right hand wall and rose to an overlooking balcony across the back of the space. Kevin tested the lower few steps, then proceeded upstairs, dropping his pack by the base of the banister. "I want to look around up there and see if this place is as sturdy as it looks." "Good idea," Ike said, following. "It would be nice to know our shelter wasn't going to come down around our ears." Soren and I exchanged a look and shrugged out of our packs. "We'll look around down here and see what we can scrounge in the way of sleeping quarters," I said. We were all used to roughing it, but I felt, for some reason, that sleeping on the floor and furniture in the day rooms would be...well, wrong. The dining room was dominated by a large table with seating for twelve; four smaller, more intimate tables around the walls raised that capacity to twenty. The light from the front window barely reached this room, and I needed to crank my flashlight again, so we opened the curtain at the back of the dining room. Less light filtered in, here, where the cliffs and the thick trees blocked the sunlight, but what light there was filled the room with a cool glow. The window displayed a wide curving path through the trees to a garden glade. One of the old oaks had fallen on the gazebo, crushing it, but that was our only glimpse of any serious damage that time had wrought on the resort. We passed through a large kitchen which had two wood stoves and a heavy sink with a small hand pump, which Soren commented, was probably attached to a small tank that was filled by a main pump at the well. A narrow hallway at the back of the kitchen wound around to the front past a few small rooms?servants' quarters?and two large suites, their sleeping rooms dominated by huge feather beds that had been carefully covered against the years. The hallway led back out into the parlor through a small door behind the desk, and we met Ike and Kevin coming down the stairs. "Not much to see up there," Ike said. "Four suites, but they've been stripped. The beds are there with no covers, but not much else." "Looks solid, though," Kevin added, "and that's the important thing." "We found a couple of good rooms down here," Soren said. "We'll have to share, but there's room and good cover." Something out the window caught my eye. I wasn't sure what it was, so I wandered over to look. "The rain's wrong," I said. Ike followed and gazed out. "I think it might be starting to sleet." As the sheets of rain swept off the roof, they were split by the various gables and finials into translucent curtains. The light, but growing sleet, added a glisten to the otherwise grey view. The scene would have been romantic, had I been here with a girl. But I wasn't. "This is just fantastic," Soren said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "what a great fucking idea. Why do we even listen to you, Kevin?" "Don't be an ass," I replied with more ire than I should have felt. "There's no way Kevin could have predicted this." We stood at the window and stared silently out at the rapidly freezing rain. We began to realize that we might be there for a while. I sighed in resignation. "Oh well," I said, "better here under cover than out there hoping our tents don't slide off of a mountain." I turned to my pack. "What are you doing?" asked Kevin. "Same thing I always do once camp is set. I'm getting ready to cook dinner." I thought for a while. "Soren said there should be a main pump out the back. Why don't you see if one of those nearer outbuildings is the well house?" I turned to Soren. "Since they went to all this trouble to close this place down and leave it nice, do you think they'd have some good wood for the fireplaces laid up under cover?" Soren nodded. "Think you and Ike could bring some in?" They looked at Kevin for conformation. He nodded, as he usually did, backing me on those rare occasions when I took the lead. I fished through my pack and brought out my cooking gear and two potatoes, then I opened the blue ice cooler I carried with me for a lump of hamburger meat. Luckily we'd stopped in a town for supplies the previous day, but things might get a little thin if we didn't reach another town tomorrow. Soren and Ike returned fairly quickly with the wood. Kevin came in somewhat later, while the fire was building and the potatoes were starting to roast in the coals. "There's a windmill pump at the well," he said, "I think I may have got it connected okay, but I went ahead and used the hand pump to get some up into the tank." He sank onto the covered sofa. "Give me a minute and I'll see if I can't get it running in the kitchen." "I'll get that," Ike volunteered. "I have a tester kit." Soren looked at him gratefully as Ike rose. Soren was a bit of a germaphobe. "Do you know," Kevin said, thoughtfully. "I don't think I saw an outhouse out there?" "Crappers," Soren responded, staring into the fire. "Huh?" "Crapper water closets. There was one downstairs for the employees, and two others in the managers' suites. I assume there was at least one upstairs for the guests." Ike returned with a bucket of water from the well and some cups from the kitchen. We talked and drank water while I finished making dinner in the fireplace. When it was ready we ate and talked some more. I'd just returned from the kitchen where I'd washed the few dishes when Ike suddenly said, "Shush." We all looked at him. "Rain stopped." "Oh, crap," Kevin, who was looking at the window, said. Outside, just barely visible in the light of our fire, big, puffy snowflakes were falling. "I thought it didn't snow this far south," Ike said. "It does, but not in November," I replied numbly, denying the evidence of my own eyes. "Oh crap," Soren said, repeating Kevin. That brought an end to our revels. The realization that we were trapped there made us all feel tired and defeated. Rain was a bother, and snow could be tricky, but snow-covered ice on an unfamiliar trail was a hazard that none of us were willing to risk, especially considering that our choices seemed to be either up the cliff or back down the trail across that now-swollen creek. We banked the fire over a fresh log, and Soren used the calipers to put a few coals into a long-handled pan. "Hearth pan," he replied to my unvoiced query. "You stick it between the sheets to warm a bed. I'm just using it to move some coals to the fireplaces in the rooms we picked out. We don't know how long we'll need Ike's lighter." We started low fires in the rooms. They weren't very hot, but they'd smolder all night and keep the worst of the cold out. After we'd split into rooms, I noticed Kevin undressing. "My clothes are wet from that trip to the well house," he explained. I realized my clothes were still a little damp and doffed my pants. We lay down to sleep on opposite sides of the bed. I woke the next morning with the heat of Kevin's body pressed against mine. He must have gotten cold in the night and was now lying face down, pushed up against me. He was naked, which made me a little uncomfortable, but I discovered I really didn't mind that much, and lay there enjoying the shared warmth. But that was just laziness and the prospect of rising into the cold morning. I forced myself out of bed and put my pants on. I'd laid them on the hearth so the heat of the fire would dry them, and they were a little stiff and scratchy. They were loose and fell immediately from my waist down to my hips. For a moment I thought I'd mistakenly put Kevin's pants on, but then I decided that I'd just lost a few inches on our long walk. I usually did, but I had to admit that I'd had more to lose this time. Besides, Kevin's pants were still piled on the floor with the rest of his clothes. That man! I slipped out to the main room and stoked the fire there under a couple of new logs. That left me three or four smallish pieces of wood from the bundle that Soren and Ike had brought in to start a fire in one of the kitchen stoves. Once that was going, I went back to my pack for the last of my supplies. I knew I should try to preserve them, just in case this turned out to be a long stay, but something told me they wouldn't be needed. In a few moments the kitchen was filled with the morning smell of eggs, hash browns from the preserved unfinished potatoes and the last bits of hamburger meat, spiced up to give it a vaguely sausage- like flavor. I was also boiling water to make coffee in my coffee press. Soren wandered in, his shirt hanging down over his hips like a dress. "Whatcha making?" he asked. "Breakfast," I replied. "Why don't you go put some pants on and set the table?" He looked down at his bare legs and acted surprised to see them naked. "I must've been exhausted last night. I don't even remember taking them off." He disappeared out the servants' door, but I soon heard the clinking as he loaded dishes from the cabinets in the dining room. By the time everything was ready, Kevin and Ike were up. "Have you guys looked out the windows, yet?" I heard Ike say through the door to the dining room. I picked up the tray with all the food. "Oh. Oh, man," Soren said as I entered the dining room. He was looking out the picture window toward the ruined gazebo. I set the food down and looked out myself. Everything was covered in a deep blanket of snow. Not like a blizzard or anything drastic, but deep enough that it was clear we wouldn't be hiking anywhere useful today. "It's even deeper out front," Kevin said. "I guess this side had the cliff for protection." We ate in silence, pondering the implications of our situation and the looming clouds that threatened more. I found I wasn't very hungry and only ate a small portion of eggs and half a faux sausage. Soren, usually the big eater of our group, did the same. I noticed that Ike and Kevin had no trouble picking up the slack and wolfing down the remainder. I felt oddly pleased by this. "Ike found some heavy coats and leather gloves in the mud room closet," Kevin announced. "We're thinking we might head out and see if we can get some use out of our hunting licenses." "I thought you only got those so you could carry your guns," Soren protested. The new company owned a deer lease in West Texas, and all executives were expected to go out there for a hunting retreat once a year. Ike suggested that they might want to get some guns and maybe practice on the hike, so they didn't look like complete idiots. Kevin agreed, and they'd brought the guns along, and had made use of them a couple of times at the few shooting ranges we'd encountered. It was at one of these that the owner had pointed out to us that hunting licenses would make it easier for them to carry the guns without being taken in by every game warden and sheriff along the trail. "The situation has changed," Kevin said. "I doubt we'll even find anything," Ike said, addressing Soren. "We just need to think we have options." Soren nodded, not completely satisfied. "While we're out," Kevin continued, "why don't you two hunt around the house and the outbuildings and see if you can't find anything to make our stay a little easier." He rose, giving my knee a little squeeze as he did. I smiled and blushed a little. Soren helped me with the dishes while the boys got ready. As they crossed through the kitchen I said, "Hey, before you go, can one of you make sure the tank is recharged while the other one refills the wood box in the living room?" They grunted assent and leaned their guns against the wall by the door. By the time the dishes were clean and put away, they'd finished their chores and were out the door. I finally got tired of fighting with my pants which kept sliding down whenever I moved, so I fished my belt out of my pack and tightened it to the inside notch. I didn't usually wear a belt with my jeans, but I always brought one with me on hikes because I tended to thin down a bit. I couldn't remember thinning down this much, however. Even after belting my pants still hung past my heels, so I cuffed them and braced myself for the task at hand. I went through the kitchen. The cabinets were empty, except for a full selection of cooking utensils. Then I noticed a small door that Soren and I hadn't seen before. I called him in. "What do you figure that is?" Soren shrugged. "Pantry? Maybe a root cellar?" We opened the door and found a narrow set of stairs going down. I retrieved my flashlight and we ventured down into the darkness. It was a wine cellar. Most of the area of the subterranean room beneath the kitchen was filled with racks, and there were bottles laid up carefully in most of them. Some were empty, improper seals and old corks allowing the wine to evaporate, and, no doubt, a number of them had probably long ago turned to vinegar, but I thought it was a safe bet that a fair number of them had simply aged in that way good wines do when they're left on their own in the cool darkness of the earth. More importantly to us, however, it was also a root cellar. We found bins of potatoes, dried carrots, wheat, corn and coffee. We found bins of things that may have been dried apples and maybe peaches, but they had not weathered the years as well as the others. On a shelf above the bins sat two boxes of salt and a box of peppercorns. "You suppose any of this is good?" Soren asked. "The potatoes and the carrots may be a little rubbery," I replied, "but the grains and the coffee should be no worse than when they were put up. I've read stories about millet berries sprouting after they were dug out of Egyptian tombs." "What do we do, just boil them like rice?" "Well, we could, but I'm pretty sure there was a hand mill in the kitchen. I thought it was a meat grinder and I wondered why they had two, but this explains that." I looked at the wine bottles. "If we're lucky, one of those may still have some live yeast cultures in it that I can use to start a sourdough." We stepped back up the stairs, but Soren stopped at the door. "Do you hear something?" I listened. "It's out back, I think." We rushed to the window over the sink and looked out. A large bird was standing on a fencepost near one of the old sheds. "Is that a..." "That's a chicken!" Soren finished for me. We rushed out the door and across the yard to the shed. The rooster flapped from his post to the shed's open door to protect his harem. Inside we saw four hens, none of them as fat as you'd normally expect, but they didn't look skinny and rangy, either. Soren and I looked at each other. "We have eggs!" Then we realized how cold it was, and that we'd run out in bare feet and shirts. We went back inside before our toes got frostbitten. We pulled on our socks and boots. Mine felt a little loose; they'd probably stretched some in the rain. "Let's sweep out that chicken yard, and we can spread some corn for them," I suggested. "Why would there be chickens?" "Well, that is a henhouse." "Yeah, but why would they still be here? This place hasn't been occupied for decades." That caused me to pause. "I don't know. Maybe there were some left behind, and they went feral. Chickens can be pretty nasty so I could totally see them making it without human care, especially if they had a safe roost like a henhouse." "I guess," he said, but he still seemed bemused. The only jackets left in the mud room were very definitely women's coats. We both grumbled a bit as we tried them on. They fit...just, but they were cut in such a way that you wouldn't know that either of us were men if you came on us from behind. "Frostbite or hypothermia would make us more uncomfortable," I reminded Soren as we collected a couple of brooms. We started sweeping snow away from the henhouse door, the rooster pecking at the bristles as if he thought he was fighting a monster. When we were half done Soren said, "I can finish this. Why don't you go ahead and see what else is in these buildings." I looked out over the yard. I recognized the wood shed, leaning up against the wall of the lodge, and the well house with its windmill, but there were two other buildings I couldn't quite place. I strolled to the nearer one, a stone building with a slate roof and a chimney. I opened the door to a dark room hung with butcher hooks. The walls were blackened with burn scars and smoke residue. I reasoned that it must have been a smoke house. I closed the door and walked to the other building. This had a strange roof composed of multiple overhangs and had wide windows on all sides. An uncharacteristic tangle of underbrush crowded one side, which, on closer inspection, I discovered to be rosemary, sage, and ancient bay laurels. I guessed that this must be an herb shack of some sort, and a look inside the door confirmed my guess. Old stems, no longer potent, hung in bundles from the rafters and potted thyme and oregano climbed the walls from their shelves, providing a green tint to the room. Mason jars sat in neat rows on another shelf awaiting the return of the lost gardener. Soren had just finished the sweeping when I rejoined him. "How much corn do you think I should give them?" he asked. "No Idea," I said. "I usually don't take care of them until they're plucked." Soren pondered a moment. "I guess I could just keep tossing corn until they stop eating it." "You do that," I laughed. "I'm going to see what I can do to make the house more livable. My nose is caked with dust from last night." "Good luck with that," he giggled as we parted ways at the door to the root cellar. I doffed my coat and gloves and hung them carefully in their spot. Taking a deep breath, I decided to first move the packs into our respective rooms. I strode to my own pack and picked it up. I had to use two hands to lift it and forget swinging it to my back to hang over a shoulder. Once the packs were put away, an operation that was more wearying than I liked to admit, I looked around the room I shared with Kevin. The bed was still unmade, so I decided to start there. Kevin, with typical masculine single-mindedness, had not even thought about making the bed when he got up. After that was done, I dusted the exposed wood, then I investigated the two armoires along the walls. One was filled with men's clothes, all fairly large. The other was packed with women's dresses?-old ones, at least at first. They all seemed to shimmer, and for a second I thought I saw the closet full of newer styles then it shimmered back to the Edwardian hoop skirts I knew it had to hold if it held anything. I shook my head and looked at the dust on the floor from my work cleaning the wood. I left to get a broom. Returning with the broom, a dustpan and a pail I swept the room, working as much dust out of the carpet as I could, thinking that I'd have to give that a good beating once spring came. Exiting I decided to let Soren deal with the room he shared with Ike, and moved into the living room. I carefully folded the drop covers that still at least partially covered the furniture, not wanting to let any of the dust fall onto the floor. I beat the chairs and sofas, coughing as the dust rose out of their fillings, then wiped down everything that had stood the ages uncovered, and swept, much as I had the bedroom. By the time I was finished the pail was full of dust, so I decided to take it out back to dump it. As I passed through the kitchen I heard Soren calling, "Come here boy, it's okay...come here..." I watched through the window as he coaxed a small goat to come to him and eat corn from the bucket he was carrying. When the goat had settled down and was eating and allowing Soren to stroke its neck I remembered what I was doing and continued outside. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked, dumping the dust behind the woodshed. "Yeah," he said. "Isn't he cute?" "I don't think it's a 'he'," I said, staring at the full milk bag dangling between the nanny's legs. As if on cue a kid wandered out of the brush, bleating for its mother. She raised her head from the bucket long enough to answer, and the kid arrowed in and began feeding. "What do you think we should do with her?" he asked. "Tie her up somewhere? She obviously belongs to a farmer in the area. Maybe he'll come looking for her." "It's too cold. Look at the kid, he's shivering." "We can't bring them inside." "What about the other half of the well house? Ike said there were a couple stalls there, separated from the well room by a wall, but in the same building." "You know I never thought to look. I just looked at the two buildings we hadn't been in." "Let's put her there." I shrugged assent. Soren led the nanny away with the corn bucket, and the kid, at first trying to continue feeding, followed. There was a manger in the stall area, and some dry hay in the stall itself, and Soren emptied the bucket into the manger and we left her there. "We should get the guys to repair the pens here and at the henhouse," he said, as we stepped past the broken gate. I nodded and checked my watch. It was almost one. Soren helped me bring up a measure of corn and wheat along with one of the wine bottles that looked promising as a source of yeast, then left to straighten his room before Ike returned. I examined the hand mill dumbly, then gave the crank a few experimental turns while I looked down the hopper. Finally, convinced I had some idea how it worked, I filled the hopper with wheat and started cranking. It was hard work, and a little noisy, but, in a few minutes, the hopper was empty, and I opened the catch bin to see what I had. It looked more like sand than it did flour, broken bits of light brown grain sat in a pile. I looked at the mill again and saw a thumb screw I hadn't noticed before. I gave it a turn while I looked down the hopper and saw the grind wheel move. I turned it until it stopped turning, then poured the grain bits back into the hopper. I tried the crank. It wouldn't move. I alternated between working the screw and trying the crank until I finally got some motion out of it. This was even harder than the first try, and I had to switch hands in the middle, but I finally got a full bin of light brown whole wheat flour. I dumped it into one of the bowls from the cabinets. I stoked the coals in the oven and added a couple logs, then I put some water in a kettle on the top to heat up. I got out a smaller bowl and poured about half of the flour into that. I'd started a sourdough before, but that had been in the professional kitchens at the college, and I'd had the benefit of package yeast to start. I assumed that any live cultures would be at the bottom near the sediment, and away from the poisonous vinegar above, so I dumped out most of the bottle. It occurred to me that I could have used that vinegar for something else, and I kicked myself for wastefulness. I wasn't sure how much I would need, so I probably used more. I added sugar from some packets I had scrounged from diners, then tried to balance the water temperature so it was warm, but not so hot that it killed the yeast. I stirred it all into runny goo and hoped for the best. Soren looked over my shoulder. "Doesn't look like much." "If we're lucky, this'll turn into a base I can use for making proper bread. For today flat cornbread will have to do." I reached into the linen cupboard for a tea towel and covered the starter. "Why flat?" "Nothing to make it rise. I suppose if I had some eggs and milk I could use some of the wheat flour to make a cakey cornbread, but even so, I'd?what?" Soren was staring at me intently. "We do have eggs and milk. At least we might." I mentally palmed my head. "We do...but...have you ever milked a goat before? I know I haven't." "I think I can work it out. Not sure about the eggs though." "If there are any, you can candle them to be sure they're not...you know." "I will." He went about collecting what he thought he'd need for the task at hand, and I went down to the basement on a hunch. It turned out the second box of salt was really baking soda, so I was in luck. I brought a little upstairs for the corn bread. Now the fun of milling the corn greeted me. This was more difficult than the wheat; maybe I was already tired, or maybe the kernels were larger and harder than the grains, but I had to grind it three times to get an acceptable meal out of it, using finer and finer settings. Both arms were sore by the end, and I was panting and sweating the last few turns, when Ike and Kevin entered with two dead rabbits. They were grinning like idiots at their success until they saw the look on my face. "Get those things out of my kitchen!" I shouted. "You're lucky Soren isn't here; you know how he is about animals." "Oh, crap!" Ike exclaimed. "I forgot!" "I don't see the problem," Kevin remarked at the same time. "We field dressed them so there isn't any blood or anything dripping." He lifted his arm to lay them on the counter. "I can't cook them like that," I protested, heading him off. "Take them out to the smokehouse, that's the stone building with the thick door. I think there's a table in there you can use." I hunted in a drawer for a sharp knife and handed it to Ike. "Skin 'em and try to make them look a little less like rabbits, but don't mangle the meat." Ike looked lost. "How are we supposed to do that?" Kevin shrugged. "I don't suppose it's much different than skinning a fish. Pull, cut, repeat. We might have to take off its head and feet..." Ike looked like he had a protest, so I pushed them out to have their argument elsewhere, and watched them cross the yard to the smokehouse, still arguing over the finer points of a skill that neither had ever practiced. Just as they closed the door Soren exited the henhouse carrying a basket and a small pail. "Did I hear Ike and Kevin?" he asked entering. He put the pail on the floor and the basket on the counter. The basket held maybe three or four eggs, but the pail was full. "Yeah," I answered, "they had some success on their hunt." I quickly changed the subject. "That's a lot of milk." "She had more, but the pail was full." He looked around. "How long until dinner?" "A couple hours, I guess. Why?" "I want to take a bath. I smell like goat and angry chicken." "I'll put some more water on to heat up. Let me know when you need it." The suites had honeymoon tubs in their bathrooms, but the water was the same freezing cold stuff that dropped from the tank. "Will do." I'd just gotten the cornbread into the oven when Soren returned from his bath. "The water's still warm if you want to use it," he said. "Pants," I commented, reminding him that he was not wearing any. "Also, I think I will." I stopped by my room and picked up my other set of clothes from my pack. Usually we would go a week or more without changing, but today's efforts and yesterday's rains had left me feeling the need for something fresh. The warm water was heavenly as I slipped into it, relaxing my aching arms and chest, and I languored in it for longer than I should have. Or maybe exactly as long as I should have. The cornbread was just turning crispy as I retrieved it from the oven, and Ike and Kevin walked in with the rabbit meat at the same time. I nodded toward the pot of water I had heating up there, and they dropped the rabbits in. "Dinner will be in a bit," I told them. "Why don't you guys clean up. You'll have to run more water, but I have a kettle on to warm it up." Ike nabbed the kettle and strolled off. Kevin meanwhile stood close behind me and looked over my shoulder as I cut the cornbread into squares. He was very close, and a strange thrill went through me as I felt his heat and smelled his musky scent. "Cornbread?" he asked. "Yes," I replied, blushing slightly. "Where'd you get the stuff to make it?" "We made some discoveries of our own today. We'll tell you all about it over dinner. Go wash up." "Ike just went," he replied, leaning in closer; I could feel his manhood pressing against me. I tried to control my breathing; I felt so strange. "Then clean your shotgun. Just get out of my kitchen, so I can finish dinner." He pulled away, seeming disappointed for some reason. I waited for him to leave then sighed, deeply. I boiled the rabbits for about half an hour, then chopped them into servings and roasted them with some carrots and potatoes I'd reconstituted in warm water. Soren came in bitching that Ike and Kevin had trashed his room, and asked if I needed any help with dinner. I absently told him to set the table again and he skipped away. Why had Kevin acted that way? Why had it affected me the way it did? I couldn't get those thoughts out of my mind. And I kept returning to the feeling of his body pressed against mine, and the way his smell...something. I couldn't define it. I was pensive through dinner, and only spoke to remind everyone to save the bones and scraps so I could start a stock. Soren told the guys about our day's discoveries, and waxed poetic about the many ways in which the goat, that he had named Hilly after an old girlfriend, was obviously a superior example of the breed. Near the end we saw more snow fall in the yard beyond the window and I was suddenly afraid. I felt Kevin's hand on my knee and turned to him. "You okay?" he asked. "Yeah, I guess I'm just a little tired. I think I'll go to bed as soon as Soren and I clean up." He nodded and gave my knee a little squeeze. "Okay. Ike and I need to finish cleaning our guns." He nodded to Ike, and they stepped through the parlor and into the smoking room. Soren asked if I was okay as we took the dishes into the kitchen. I sort of shrugged him off and sank into my thoughts as I put the leftover bones and meat into a stock pot with some water. Something odd was happening, something I out of my control, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I could hear Ike and Kevin laughing loudly from the smoking room as I covered the pot and put the potato and carrot scraps in a bowl for Soren to take to the goat in the morning. Soren asked what to do with the remaining eggs and milk, and I told him they should be fine overnight in the cellar. Just as we were finishing up we heard a boisterous laugh from the boys. For a moment I considered joining them, and, looking at Soren, I knew he was thinking the same thing. But then we went to our respective beds. I awoke the next morning lying on my side with Kevin spooned against me, his arm around my waist. I could feel his hot breath in my hair, and smell his rich masculine odor. He had stripped completely again, I could tell, because I felt his turgid manhood pressing against my boxered buttocks. I resisted the urge to press back against it. "No," I told myself, silently. "Not yet," something deeper within me said. I slid out of his grasp into the cold empty morning, being careful not to wake him. I struggled into my pants. My arms ached and my chest was sore and puffy from the previous day's exertions. The pants felt even bigger on me than they had yesterday, and pulling the belt to its last hole did almost nothing to change that. My shirt now hung off me and down to the middle of my thighs like a bathrobe. With my pant legs, still cuffed from yesterday bunched at my feet, I looked like a little girl trying on her mommy's slacks for dress-up. I glanced at the armoire thinking it might have some clothes that would fit me. The drawers on the bottom might even have a few nice underthings to replace my old boxers. I shook my head at the absurdity of the idea then, stopping at the vanity for a ribbon to tie back my long hair, I stumbled into the kitchen to start breakfast. I checked the stock and decided it wasn't boiling down as well or as much as I'd wanted. I guessed it would make an okay soup if I added some carrots and potatoes, maybe something I could send hunting with the boys, if I could find a canteen to hold it. We all had thermoses; I could put the soup in Sara's and mine, and load the boys' own thermoses with coffee. That settled, I went down into the cellar for the things I'd need. Sara was up when I got back. She was moving around in the kitchen collecting what she'd need for feeding the animals and milking the goat. When she noticed me, she stopped. "Alex, we need to talk," she said. I was confused. "What was that?" "We need to talk." "No, before that." "Alex. It's your name. Alexander Dalton." "No, my name is...my name is Alex. Why did I think it was Alice?" "That's what we need to talk about. Something weird is happening. We're changing. I think something is changing us." "No, that must be your imagination." "Then why is your t-shirt so big?" I looked down. Except where my swollen chest pushed it out slightly, I swam in it. She?HE didn't need to mention my pants getting wider and longer. My clothes weren't growing, I was shrinking, and not in ways that could be accounted for by exercise. "Oh my," I said. "You may be right. But what do we do?" "I'm not sure there's anything we can do, not trapped here like this." He started to shake and I realized she was crying. I pulled him into a comforting hug. "No, we'll just have to fight it. We'll remind ourselves who we are as often as possible. And if we forget, we'll remind each other, too." "What about the boys?" I thought for a minute. "I'm not sure they've been changed in any serious way, besides their perception of who we are. I guess we can try to correct them and see if it does any good..." I wiped her tears, then stood him up on his own. "But worrying won't help us. Let's work on surviving for now. I guess you're going out to feed the animals? Take the leftover carrots and potatoes from dinner for the goat." He nodded and took the grain pails downstairs to fill them. I returned to slicing vegetables for my soup. When he came back up to get the leftovers she asked, plaintively, "You're sure we'll work this all out?" "We'll be fine." I smiled at him and returned to my cutting. Just then I felt strong hands spreading something over my shoulders. "You forgot this," Kevin's voice said. I looked down and saw my flannel shirt that I usually wore as a jacket on cool days. His hands slid down my shoulders and around my waist. "Mmm," I sighed, leaning back into his embrace. Something inside me was disturbed by his maleness surrounding and engulfing me, the way he draped over me possessively. We had once been the same height, hadn't we? How could he loom so large, now? I dismissed the thoughts for later. It was comforting to feel him there, strong and protective. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in his warmth, his smell. "Was that Sara?" he asked. "Soren," I corrected, rousing myself and disengaging from him, so I could continue my work. "What?" "Nothing. Can you empty the ash bin and stoke the oven for me?" "Yes, ma'am," he saluted. It was goofy and cute, and it pleased me more than it should have. I turned back to my soup, and he bent to the task of emptying the catch bin and stoking the fire. In a moment I heard him pass behind me with the ash pail. Looking up I noticed he was wearing only his boxers. "Swee?" I stopped myself. "Kevin, you may want to put on some pants before going out into the snow." "Oh, right." He put down the pail and ducked into the service hallway to our suite. The soup was starting to boil nicely, so I took down a skillet and turned my attention to breakfast. Just then Sara returned with a basket of eggs and a pail of milk. I asked him to bring up yesterday's remainder on her return. He nodded, then, his eyes suddenly going wide, she scooted down to the cellar. I turned to see what had spooked her, and noticed Ike entering from the dining room. "Have you seen Sara?" he asked. "Not recently," I half-lied. He stood, pondering. "Is something wrong?" I ventured. "I don't know. Something... happened this morning." "What?" "I was...I was mostly asleep when I started, but I was nuzzling her neck. You know, kissing it, and rubbing my face in her hair. I know that sort of thing is supposed to be wrong and all because we're just friends, but she seemed to be enjoying it. Then suddenly she jumps up all horrified, saying, 'This is wrong! This is all wrong.' Then she ran out of the room." I tried to think what to say. It was obvious that whatever was changing Soren and I was working much more subtly and effectively on Ike and Kevin. Maybe it was that their bodies weren't being physically changed by any appreciable measure. I decided it would be pointless to explain to him that neither Soren nor I were girls; it would just confuse him more. "I think you just took her by surprise is all," I finally said. "Maybe she took herself by surprise, too. I know I've surprised myself a couple of times on this trip." He looked thoughtful. "Hey can you go get everyone's thermoses?" He nodded and left the room. Kevin and Sara re-entered at the same time. Soren stood in the cellar doorway staring wide-eyed at Kevin as he strolled cluelessly through and out the back with the pail. She rushed across the kitchen and put the milk and eggs on the counter beside where I was working. "I heard you talking to Ike," she whispered. "He doesn't know what's going on," I said. "Neither does Kevin. I don't know why." I paused. "What happened this morning?" "It was like he said. He was kissing my neck, and rubbing on me. Then I woke up and remembered who I was. Am." "Did you like it?" He glared defiantly at me, then her shoulders sagged and her head drooped down. "Yes," she said, almost inaudibly. "I liked it a lot. Too much." We stared, one to the other, for a breathless moment. I wanted to say something, but didn't know what. Luckily Kevin interrupted by slamming in through the door. "Cold! Cold! Cold!" he said. I bustled him to a chair, avoiding Soren's disapproving glare. "Next time wear shoes," I remarked, drying his feet with a warm tea towel and wrapping them. He grinned at me sheepishly. Lord, what a goof! No wonder he couldn't keep a girlfriend until he found me. I pondered that last unbidden thought as I turned back to the stove. Sara started setting the table. I decided to make eggs and biscuits. I'd considered making pancakes, but with no syrup or even butter to put on them, they'd have been too dry and bland. We got the boys fed, dressed, and off each carrying a thermos of coffee and another of soup, then turned to our morning chores. Soren took it on himself to clean the rooms we were using while I worked in the kitchen. I checked the sourdough starter; it was bubbling in that slow, yeasty way they do. I cut half of it out, then recharged the remainder with more flour. I folded in enough flour to make a couple loaves of bread and left them on the counter to rise, then I put on my coat and stepped out into the yard to see what I could do with the herb shack and its herbs. I brushed the snow off of the bushes outside and took some cuttings to dry them. I wasn't sure that I wasn't damaging the bushes, nor whether I'd be able to dry them properly in the cold hut, but I didn't want to brush snow off of them every time I needed to season a dish. Looking in the wide space between the sage and the bay, I noticed green shoots poking out of the snow like grass blades. I brushed them off as well, and found a spreading growth of onions. I cut some of their shoots, assuming the shoots would just die back in the cold anyway. I tied everything in bundles and hung them from the rafters, then walked back to the house carrying a handful of fresh herbs for the soup and tonight's dinner. Sara was in the tea room, reading something. I noticed he'd made a start on dusting, but hadn't finished and hadn't even begun sweeping. She looked up as I entered. "You have to read this," he said. "This" was a hand-written journal Soren had found; it described the life and times of Felicity Merriam-Barclay. The early pages outlined a ruthless and ambitious woman who dabbled deeply enough in the spiritualist craze of the late nineteenth century to decide that she wanted a piece of that pie. It was the middle pages, however, that had caught Soren's eye, and were now catching mine: May 9, 1884 Arkansas is a haven of rubes and marks, and, I'm sure, if bilking the local farmers with patent medicines was my aim, I could make a fair living here. I have bigger fish to fry. My search for a suitable myth to gather the credulous wives and daughters of my father's business associates has borne fruit: I have heard a local legend of a hidden valley, some small distance to the west, near the Indian Territory. It seems that about the time of the Indian Relocation Acts, there was a young brave who fell in love with a squaw of a different tribe. Unfortunately the resettlement started before he could marry her, and they were separated in the lots of dispossessed savages. He loved her too much to let her go, however, and searched for her group. Eventually he found them, or what remained of them. The harsh winter of that year had trapped them in a high valley in the Ouachita Mountains, and they, deprived of the tools they needed to survive the bitter cold, had slowly been reduced to a mere handful. The Indian's lover had been among the last to die before the blizzard broke, remaining sure until the end that her man would come for her and save them all. The survivors gave the brave directions to the valley but refused to guide him there. The place was now haunted with the angry spirits of those who had died there. It seems he was a shaman of sorts, or so the legend tells, because he found the valley, and, once there, cast a spell binding all the spirits to his dying oath that no one who came to that valley would be forced to suffer loss of love and life as he and his paramour had. With suitable embellishments I'm sure I can work this legend into a hook to draw the simpering virgin daughters and disappointed wives of the elite into my net. I need only find this valley or a suitable facsimile.... May 25, 1884 I have engaged a Mr. Thaddeus B. as my partner in this venture. He is a local grifter of mediocre talent and minor wit (despite his obvious intellectual failings). His easy way with the punters will make him a useful tool until necessity and opportunity provide for his disposal... June 5, 1884 Our driver has abandoned us and taken our wagon! We were some way up a winding and weed-grown road (a track, really), when he pulled to the side at a wide spot and stopped. He dismounted and began piling our things at the roadside. When we asked what he was doing, he told us he was sure that the valley was nearby, but that he "ain't gonna chance that valley with you folks." I was more than a little insulted because as he said it, he was eyeing me the way a cook eyes a bad fish. Barclay has sworn revenge for the betrayal... June 9, 1884 Barclay is sure we've found the right valley. We found a small trail leading down from the track into a narrows sloping dell. At the bottom, we crossed a small stream and followed the trail back up the other side. As we approached a clearing near the west side cliffs, it started to rain and we barely got our tents up and our goods under cover before a downpour began. Barclay believes that the stream will be swollen at least until morning, and I agree. Not long ago the rain started turning to an unseasonable snowfall. Although Barclay was able to get a fire started despite the rain and the wind, he has suggested that we share a tent to preserve our heat. I have agreed, although I've warned him not to try anything. I didn't escape my father's plans or the blandishments of that baronet in Cornwall to be bound as the paramour of a small time grifter. June 10, 1884 The snow has stopped, but we are trapped here, in this clearing. Barclay is building us a cabin, in case the snow lasts the day. This afternoon, he caught a rabbit, and I found myself remembering the things taught to me by our old Negro cook. Barclay is beside me, now, asleep. I should have tipped him out when the snow stopped, but his body is warm, and the nights here are so cold... June 11, 1884 Thaddeus has finished our cabin, and we have moved our things inside. It was difficult, at first, cleaning out the refuse of his building and sweeping the earth floor so we wouldn't become dirty, but I did it. I wandered the valley afterwards, while Thaddeus hunted for another rabbit, and found some herbs that might take some of the gaminess out of the animal. I feel so strange lately, especially when I am near Thaddeus. He is really a better man than I had at first believed... June 17, 1884 This morning I awoke in the heat of Thaddeus's embrace, and I gave myself to him. We will be married, if we survive this ordeal, and Thaddeus has promised that we will buy this valley and build a grand lodge so that others can know the joy that we are finding here. I learned enough real ritual from those idiots at the Golden Dawn to tie the spirits here to such a purpose. How strange it seems to be so happy. It seems a lifetime ago that we came here seeking a place and a means to defraud the credulous. The book held us, rapt, for most of the day. At some point I roused myself enough to knead the bread dough for its second rising and then, later, to bake it. Sara also managed to tear herself away long enough to finish cleaning the tea room. The book continued, telling of the rise of the lodge as a popular vacation destination for newlyweds and estranged couples in need of renewal. Felicity bore five children for Thaddeus, but none of them seemed to take any interest in remaining at the Inn. By that time World War I and the 20's interfered, anyway, and the fashionable vacation spots had moved on elsewhere. The last pages described Felicity and Thaddeus padding around their empty inn, still happy and in love. The last entry read, "Thaddeus wants me to join him in the garden, and I think I shall. The violets look so lovely today." I couldn't dispel the image that raised of an elderly Felicity joining her man on the now-broken bench in the gazebo out back; they kiss a final kiss then fall asleep together. I was brought out of my reverie by a thumping noise in the kitchen. It was almost five o'clock. The boys were home. While Soren hurried to put her coat on and feed the animals, I rushed to the kitchen to be sure the boys weren't dragging any bloodied carcasses across my nice clean floor. I met Kevin at the door, and his mere presence flustered me and made me forget what I was doing. "We bagged a deer!" he announced exultantly. "You're not going to try to bring it in here?" "No, Ike remembered to take it to the smokehouse. I just came in for a knife, but I forgot where you got it yesterday." I rolled my eyes at him, and retrieved the knife from its drawer. "Try to cut some strip steaks from the ribs, if you can do it without mangling them, and get me a haunch for tomorrow." "Okay. We'll also have to figure out how to store some of it for you to cook and smoke the rest." I nodded agreement and he left with the knife. I decided I could mellow the gaminess of the steaks with a short marinade in some wine; the marinade didn't use the entire bottle, so we drank it at dinner. When it was gone Sara went downstairs and brought up another. I stopped after my first glass made me feel woozy, but the boys kept on, and Soren seemed dedicated to drinking herself stupid. By the time I was able to half-carry Kevin back to our room and struggle him into bed and out of his clothes, Sara was sound asleep with his head in Ike's lap. Ike was leaned back in his chair and snoring like a rusty sawmill. I awoke to the now-familiar sensation of Kevin's hardness pressed between my soft buttocks. His arm was around me, and his fingers rested softly on my nipple. I struggled with the desire to arch my back and feel him fully, but, before I could move away, his fingers twitch against me, and he burrowed his face into my hair, kissing my neck and whispering my name. I closed my eyes and shuddered. His hand now began a very thorough manipulation of my nipple and breast and his gentle nuzzling became passionate kissing and nibbling on my neck. I turned my head, intending to ask him to stop, but that just gave him access to my ear, which he nibbled, breathing hotly into the crook of my jaw. My own breath caught, and I gave in to the rapture, rolling under him and turning my head to take his kisses fully on the lips. He let me slide onto my back and slipped above me, my legs parting to allow him access to the place the he wanted?-that both of us wanted him?-to go. He teased me, one hand caressing my breast, the other supporting his head and shoulders as he strolled from my lips to the other breast and back again. I felt his manhood at my opening, and wiggled my hips to feel more. Now it was his turn to gasp. The hand on my breast went to the bed to help support him, and he slowly?-oh, so slowly?-entered me. There was a moment of exquisite pain as he broke my hymen, and he stopped, worried at the pain. I collected myself and encouraged him to continue, and soon we were making love in a deep deliberate rhythm. He kissed my neck; he kissed my face; he kissed me where ever he could reach. I ran my hands down his back to his butt, pulling him into me, feeling every inch of him, and when he finished, his warm seed flowing into me and making me warmer, it was fulfilling in an odd way, though I had not orgasmed, myself. Just having him in me and having satisfied him was enough, for now. He planted soft butterfly kisses on my face, and professed his love as he slid off me into sleep. I lay there for a few minutes, listening to him breathe. Then I realized that the result of what we had just done was not staying where it was put. It was an embarrassing surprise for me, because I guess I should have known, but I never really considered what happened after. I wiggled out of my shirt, and jamming it between my legs, I rushed, naked, to the bathroom. Once I had cleaned myself to my satisfaction, I stepped back into our room. The sun had not yet risen, but the morning gloaming told me it wouldn't be long. I looked at my pants and my boxer, neatly folded at the foot of the bed. I remembered how my boxers had fallen off as I removed my pants last night. I looked again at the armoire, sighing this time as I prepared to submit to Edwardian women's torture devices. I was surprised to find the clothes looked fairly modern. I selected a pair of light blue Capri pants and a mint green sleeveless baby doll tee shirt, and set them behind me on the bed. The under-things in the drawers were also not as I had suspected. I found a nice pair of French leg panties near the top of one, and a comfortable bra for my C-cup breasts in the other. I brushed my hair and tied it back at the vanity, unable to look away from the moderately attractive woman in the mirror. I couldn't wear my boots; I'd been swimming in them for two days, and I had the feeling that today they'd just look foolish, but I found a functional and comfortable looking pair of shoes under the armoire. I put these on and padded into the kitchen. Sara was already there, sitting in the little chair where we peeled potatoes, staring at her hands. "Are you okay?" I asked. She bit her lip and looked up at me guiltily. "I did something last night." "Um...okay." "I woke up when you dragged Kevin off to bed. My head was in Ike's lap, and I...something came over me, and I..." She couldn't say it. She rocked her fist back and forth by one side of her face and poked her tongue into the other cheek. "Oh," I said, not really understanding at first, then, "OH!" "Alex, am I gay?" I chewed on that question. "I don't think so." I tried to wrap my head around my thoughts. "If you are, then I am." She looked up, hopefully. "Did you..?" she made the motion again. I drew a deep breath. "Kevin and I made love this morning." "Eww in the b?" "No, the normal way." Her hand shot down to her crotch as her eyes went wide. "I hadn't even thought to check." "Me either. It didn't occur to me that it was possible until it was done." "How..." She looked away shyly. "How was it?" "Pleasant," I said. "A little painful, just at first, but nice, over all." I thought for a minute. "Different." "Have you been up all night?" I asked. "No," she said. "After I did the...the thing, we went to bed and lay together. We didn't do what you did, but we cuddled until we fell asleep. I woke up a little while ago when I