The Magic Hour

Chapter 15: Almost There

THE LOUD SQUABBLING woke him out of a dreamless sleep. Nathan looked out the window of his room. On a branch of a tree two birds were sitting peacefully. Whatever they had been arguing about was apparently settled. He had arrived back at Sierra’s so tired that once again he’d fallen asleep fully dressed, pulling the bedspread over him.

    “Have to do better than this,” he said to his image as he caught site of his disheveled state in the mirror behind the door. He threw his clothes on the floor and took a hot shower, staying in it until the water began to cool. He wrapped himself in the terrycloth robe Sierra supplied to her visitors and sat down on the bed to check his notes. A glance at his watch showed him it was past eight o’clock. He hadn’t slept in for as long as he could remember. Must be something about the air in Canyon City. The usual tension in his body had slipped away, from sleep or shower he couldn’t say.

    A knock at the door startled him.

    “Nathan! Breakfast time’s up in fifteen minutes. If you don’t eat here you’ve got the diner, but I’d recommend my cooking. It’s a sight better for your health and well being.”

    He went over and opened the door. Sierra looked as if she had just come in from a walk, her color high and her hair windswept, though he was beginning to think it might always look that way.

    “I just walked to the lake and back and still you’re acting like Sleeping Beauty. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but today I have to go down to the city. Do you mind?”

    “I’ll go for your breakfast and be down in five minutes,” Nathan said.

    “Bacon, eggs scrambled, toast, and coffee. That’s the menu,” she called out as she went back down the stairs.

    He grabbed fresh underwear out of his carryall. At least he’d remembered to hang up his shirts. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a blue shirt, and a navy blue pullover sweater. Clean socks and sneakers.

    He badly needed a shave but it would have to wait. With a quick comb through his hair, he opened the door and headed down to the kitchen, where the delicious smell of frying bacon welcomed him. Sun came in the kitchen windows and beyond them he could see another part of the lake that abutted Harry’s house.

    “What’s the name of the lake?” he asked.

    Sierra didn’t look up as she poured an egg mixture into a sauté pan on the stove.

    “Thoreau. Lake Thoreau. Named after that New England writer.”

    “You’re kidding.”

    She set the bacon on the side and checked an ancient coffee pot, which was just starting to erupt.

    “You ask me,” she said, seeing his look, “none of our modern coffee makers compares to the coffee you can get out of an old percolator like this one.”

    She set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, pointed to the toast on the rack in the center of the table, where she’d also placed containers of butter and strawberry jelly, and poured them both a cup of coffee. She sat down across from him.

    “The history of how the lake got its name is pretty interesting, but I have to leave, so I’ll just give you the thumbnail sketch. Some of the territory up here used to be owned by Grand Union, a company out of Pennsylvania, who bought the land for a pittance from transient settlers about seventy years ago. They neglected to let those same people know that Grand Union had discovered in their surveys that the land was worth a lot more than they were paying for it—copper lay in the ground. Greed and gold rush mentality. So they mined the area for the copper ore it held until they wore it out, and when there was no more profit to be had, they left. Reclamation of the land wasn’t part of their exit deal. About the same time, so that would be forty years ago, a man from back east bought up the area, mine and all. He lived here alone for a while. Canyon City was pretty small back then.”