His eyes look even more surreal up close; translucent almost. Blue enough to look real, but light and clear enough to have a glass-like quality. His gaze has a constant deliberate hardness, making it feel like he sees something beyond what the rest of us see. Maybe not so much what's inside of people, but what they carry. The ghosts that ride around on their backs, whether they feel them there or not. I shiver.
"You're going to catch pneumonia."
"I have to go home," I blurt out.
Mr. Davis rubs the stubble on his face, "You aren't going anywhere until the rain lets off a little bit. Probably just a little afternoon storm. I'm sure you'll be on your merry way within the hour."
Wistfully, I look out at the rain and open my mouth to reply, but Mr. Davis cuts me off. "No reason to argue, miss. You may as well hunker down and have a seat."
With that, Mr. Davis plops down on the quilt covered ground and pats the spot beside him in a no-nonsense fashion. To my surprise and disdain, I find myself sinking to the floor. "Good. Now, what's your name?"
"Norah Harrison," I croak.
He mock-bows the best he can from a sitting position, "It's a pleasure, Miss Harrison. I'm We-" he stops, and perhaps it's just my imagination, but the color seems to drain from his face. He clenches his fist very subtly, then coughs politely into his sleeve. "I'm William."
He almost gave himself away, and somehow that brings him back down to earth. He's lying to me, and not even doing the best job with it. I know who he is, I see his bluff, and I have the upper hand, whether he knows it or not. He's not as clever as he thinks. "Do you have a last name, sir? I can hardly call you by your Christian name, as it would be most improper."
"Davidson," he says coolly. "William Davidson."
I look hard at him for a split-second, just long enough to make him a bit uneasy. He sure wasn't that creative when coming up with an alias. But then, he probably thinks I'm a silly little girl, too clueless and out of touch to make the connection. Well, I can certainly be that girl if that's what it takes to get me out of this tent alive. "Thank you, Mr. Davidson, for so generously sharing your... accommodations with me."
"The pleasure's all mine," he says quickly. "Now, what in heaven's name were you doing out there?"
"I was going for a nice little stroll until it started raining. Now I find myself trapped on the wrong side of the creek, you see. I'm hoping it may become easier to cross once the storm subsides."
Mr. Davis' eyes sparkle, "You were going for a nice little stroll way out here? I'm curious what your idea of a serious hike is."
I try to discretely smooth back my hair and straighten my soaked, frumpy dress. Mr. Davis laughs at my efforts, making my cheeks grow hot. "Let me guess; you have aspirations to be a missionary in Africa."
"No, I do not," I say primly.
A dramatic, knowing look covers his face, "You must be planning to start some Christ Church in a downtrodden town out West. Is that it?"
"What is it about me that gives you the impression that I am a woman of the cloth?" All I can picture is Mrs. Delaney in her flowery hats and store-bought pastel dresses; how she performs three hymns every Sunday despite not being able to carry a tune, the way she insists on always sitting up on the platform just beside the podium as her husband preaches because "that's where she hears God the best," and how it takes two chairs to accommodate her. I wrinkle my nose.
Mr. Davis leans back against one of the trees holding the canvas up and places his hands behind his head. "You extra spiritual womenfolk are all the same," he explains in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Is that so?"
"Oh, yes," he laments melodramatically, "I'm afraid so. You all love nature, are prim and proper, have an 'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me' attitude, and dress as modestly as saints."
Once again, my face burns. I don't know what to say, which only makes Mr. Davis laugh. Finally, I sputter, "That's not true. And what's wrong with my clothes?"
"You're from a farming family, is that right?"
"Yes, but-"
Mr. Davis nods, "See, you came here as a complete stranger, but I'm able to read you like a book. Farm-girl-turned-missionary. Tell me, where do you plan to set up your church? Or do you have aspirations to take over for old Reverend Delaney when he finally bites the dust? Now, now, don't look so shocked. I have shown my sorry face in church a time or two, although I might would come a good deal more often if it were your pretty little face up there instead of the reverend's." He grins triumphantly, and I can't tell how much of that statement was in seriousness.
Well. Two can play that game.
I wrack my brain, trying to come up with a story. Fast. "You caught me," I say in the most sorrowful voice I can muster. Mr. Davis smirks, feeling right proud of himself, I'm sure. "I did indeed have aspirations to better the world in the name of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior," London, Dublin, Hanover. "It's the only thing that matters in the world, really. God and helping others, that is," Vienna, Edinburgh, Valencia. I know what I'm searching for before my mind even lands on it. "You see, I've always planned to take my mission work to Finland, but once I heard about the atrocity of its blessed capital city, I've been in the process of reconsidering. I'm just not certain I could dwell in such an abominable place."
The grin slides off his face, "What kind of atrocity?"
I pretend to glance around nervously before leaning towards him, so close I feel his breath on my face, which sets off butterflies in my stomach. "Well, you see, the capital of Finland is, well..." I make a show of fidgeting around with my hands and clothes. Finally, I lean even closer, and he leans in simultaneously, so our noses are mere inches apart. Lowering my voice to almost a whisper, I say with complete stone-faced, solemn-eyed seriousness, "Hellllsinki."
I lean back into an upright position, but Mr. Davis stays bent over, completely dumbfounded. For a good minute, I let him puzzle over it before grinning triumphantly.
It takes a few seconds to register, but when it does, Mr. Davis visibly relaxes. He smiles at me for the first time in a non-condescending way, and my stomach jumps. "You're not half bad; you know that?"
At that moment, the rain stops, and I can't help but feel just a little bit disappointed. We both stand, and he says brightly, "See, what did I tell you? Just an afternoon storm. Now, let's see about getting you across that creek."
I follow him out from under the canvas and over to the creek. Now that the storm has passed, the current has slowed down to half the speed and significantly easier to navigate. Mr. Davis looks thoughtful, "If we can get across right here, would you be able to find your way back home?"
"Of course, but-"
With that, he scoops me up and proceeds to walk straight into the water. It comes up to his waist, but he's able to cradle me high enough so that only the hem of my dress gets wet. All I can do is stare at him, wide-eyed, until he sets me down on the other side.
"There, easy as pie," he bellows victoriously.
I shake my head, "That was most kind of you, but unnecessary. Now you're all wet because of me, and I feel rather terrible because of it."
He swats my words away with his hand, "That's where you're wrong. Listen here, I've walked this creek up and down, and I feel sure the only way to cross it is straight through. Either way, both of us would have gotten wet, as there's no way I could allow you to cross this raging tsunami of a river alone in good conscience. You follow? But then there's really no reason for both of us to get drenched if it can be helped. With all due respect, miss, I don't think you could have carried me." He pauses to look me up and down while chewing on his bottom lip. I simultaneously want to stand up as straight as possible and melt into the ground until I disappear. "On second thought, I won't underestimate what you can do," he grins at me wickedly, and my head spins. "Don't feel bad for not carrying me though, because I'll have to get back over to my camp anyway. So you see, it was all very necessary and quite efficient if I do say so myself."
"I see," I stammer while his blue eyes tease me.
Once again, Mr. Davis bows formally, "I'm afraid this is where my duty as a gentleman must end, as I sorrowfully can't accompany you any farther." He scratches the back of his head, "If I want to eat tonight, I'd better start looking for a dinner guest. If you run into any trouble, you just holler, and I'll come swinging in on a vine to gallantly ward off your attacker. Sound like a plan?"
"Yes," I laugh. "Thank you for coming to my rescue out here in the wilderness, kind sir."
Mr. Davis straightens and bobs his head, "Good. Until we meet again, Miss Harrison." He takes my hand, kisses it ever so gently, and then bounds back into the creek, leaving water flying in his wake.
To keep from getting wet, I jump back and watch as he climbs out the other side and disappears into the woods without once looking back. Other than the sounds of a few chirping birds, all is silent. It's almost as though he was never here at all. Did that truly just happen? I take one last long look at the canvas tent before reluctantly starting back home.
As I get far enough away where the camp is out of sight, I swear I hear the echoes of someone scream, "Good luck in Helllllllllsinki!"
I grin.
That definitely just happened.