The Hermit of Scarecrow Valley

by Robert Lubrican

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Chapter Three

He stood in the door and watched her trying to brush her hair. It was obviously painful for her. But she was dressed, so he stepped into the room.

"Hey," he said, softly.

She looked over and smiled. "You came!" she said, obviously happy.

"Let me do that," he said. "You're hurting yourself."

"Okay," she said, handing him the brush.

In return he held out his hand, upon which rested the pain pill Mindy had given him to give to her. She popped it in her mouth and swallowed.

He stroked her hair half a dozen times, looking from the hair to her eyes watching him in the mirror. He remembered what her mother had said about boys not noticing her.

"You'd look fine without brushing it anyway," he said, his attempt at a compliment a bit clumsy.

"Yeah, right," she said, grimacing. She reached to push her glasses up on her nose.

He wanted to lean down to smell her hair. He also wanted to touch it, so he stopped. "Supper is ready," he said.

"I know, I can smell it," she said, taking the brush and laying it on the dressing table. She stood, and winced.

It was instinct to offer her his arm. She took it and pulled it close against her body. He could feel the heat of her breast against his upper arm, and realized she probably wasn't wearing a bra. The breast rubbed against his arm as they walked, her shuffling, and him limping, to the kitchen.

The meal was more relaxed than either of the adults expected it to be. From Mindy's perspective, the way he dug in was an obvious compliment to her cooking. Either that, or he was starving. But she didn't get that impression from looking at him. He was wiry, but not thin.

As for Bobby, this was a bittersweet kind of situation. He missed good meals with good people. These people just ate, and didn't chatter inanely about this or that. He knew that, when he was back home, people pitied him and constantly tried to engage him in conversation about things, thinking that's what he needed to feel normal. But it was that very pity that drove him away from them. He didn't need their pity. He knew they couldn't understand what had happened to him ... would never be able to fully understand what had happened to him. He didn't expect them to. All he wanted was to just be himself ... however that turned out to be. He knew he had some neuroses. He knew he didn't have to patrol the forest. There were no enemies waiting for him out there, no IEDs, no booby traps. But it made him feel better to know what was ... and was not ... out there.

These two women didn't treat him like the others. They didn't moan over him, and offer to do things for him, like he was an invalid. It was quiet, here. The food was good.

For the first time in a long time, he liked sitting with other human beings.

Somehow, he knew that was important ... and that coming here had made his life a little better.

"My bow!" squealed Jennifer as she got up to take her dishes to the sink, and noticed the bow in the corner for the first time. She shoved the dishes onto the counter and went to pick up her weapon. The pain pill seemed to work like magic, and there was no pain as she bent to lift her things. She inspected them for damage. The strap to the quiver was torn in half, but that was all she saw. She turned. "You didn't have to go find them so fast."

"I didn't think the dew would be good for the string," said Bobby.

"I watched them pull a six inch spike of wood out of his leg," said Mindy, casually. "And he still went out in the woods and found your bow. You're going to have to do something nice for him in return."

"Six inches?!" said the girl, unbelieving.

"It was probably closer to four," said Bobby, frowning at Mindy.

"That's still as long as a knife blade!" said Jennifer.

"Not my knife blade," countered Bobby.

"Oh, quit being a big, tough guy and just let me thank you," complained Jennifer. She went to him and hugged him, her bow in one hand, and the quiver full of arrows in the other. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied, but he didn't hug her back.

She didn't seem to notice, and backed away.

"I was afraid I'd never see them again," she said.

"Why?"

"I didn't know where they were. I was just out walking in the woods and heard your saw going, so I went that way. I would never have been able to find them again."

"Nonsense," said Bobby. "I've seen you in the woods. You know them well. Besides, there's a big, honking fallen down tree right there. You could have found it easily."

"I'd have had to trespass to get them back," she pointed out, putting way too much emphasis on that word.

He smiled. "I suppose I don't mind giving you permission to cross my land ... occasionally."

"And I suppose I don't mind letting you spy on us from time to time," she teased.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Mindy. "And what's this about you seeing her in the woods enough to know she knows her way around. I wasn't aware you two met until today."

"We didn't," said Jennifer. "I decided I wanted to see what The Hermit looked like, and went over there. He knew who I was ... who you were too." She looked at The Hermit, as if handing the explanation off to him.

"I sort of patrol the woods," he said. "It's part of my ..." He seemed uncomfortable, suddenly. "It's just something I do. So I have seen the two of you a few times. But I never came on your property."

"How would you know where our property lines are?" asked Mindy, her voice tight, and her face showing some unhappiness.

"I guess I don't," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"I didn't say I don't want you on our property," said Mindy. "I only wish you'd stopped by before this and told us you might be around."

"I couldn't," he objected. She stood, looking at him. "I don't talk to people ... much," he ended lamely.

"If I'd have known there was a man lurking in the woods outside the house, I wouldn't have gone around naked so often," she said, watching his face closely.

"Mom!" squealed Jennifer. "You do-"

"Be quiet!" snapped her mother, cutting her off. But she didn't look at Jennifer. She was still watching Bobby's face. What she saw was surprise, rather than confirmation that he'd been caught, peeping.

"I never came up to the windows," he objected. "Honest. And I never saw anything other than the two of you going in or out of the house. I don't peek at women!"

"I know," she said. "Now," she added. "But I had to test you to be sure. We would love to have you as a friend, but maybe not if you're a peeping Tom."

"She never goes around naked," said Jennifer. "I do, but not Mom."

Bobby's eyes rattled in his head this time, and he turned red and looked everywhere except at Jennifer. Mindy wanted to laugh, but did not. She'd been hard enough on him as it was. She had never suspected him of anything other than honorable behavior, because the only behavior she had ever seen of his was honorable. When she'd sent him to wake Jennifer up, he had been back within thirty seconds. Most men would have stayed ... and looked. There had been plenty to see. And this man had seen that more than once, by now. But he hadn't stayed and looked. He had come back and told Mindy something he didn't have to tell her.

"Seeing you is one thing," said Mindy. "You're young and beautiful. I'm old and wrinkly."

"No you're not," said Bobby. He looked stunned, and everybody in the room realized it had just come out, unplanned.

This time Mindy did laugh. "Thank you! What a lovely compliment. You give all the women in this family nice compliments. You, my fine sir, are welcome in this house any time."

"Mom!" This time it was a clear rebuke, and it was Jennifer who was blushing as she remembered the look on his face when he told her she was pretty. It had made her feel very good. Very good.

"People get tired of me after a while," he said, again without thinking. It wasn't a ploy to get pity or sympathy. It was just the truth.

"We'll let you know when you wear out your welcome," said Mindy.

There was chocolate pie and ice cream for dessert, and Mindy served it to them in the living room. As they ate, she told him a little about them, and coaxed a bit of information from him as well. It wasn't much. He told them where he was from, and that he had gone into the Marines after high school. He explained that the property he lived on was his uncle's, and that he was just the caretaker.

"Are all those books his?" asked Mindy.

"No. Every once in a while I go down to Rapid City to the used bookstores there, and load up. I do a lot of reading, especially in the winter."

"I can imagine," said Mindy. "And you've been here ...?"

"Ten years," he said.

"You came about the same time we did," she said. "I bought this place at an auction. The only reason I could get the loan was because the bank was one of my clients. The place was a mess when we got it. It had been used as a summer residence, and had been let get run down. The first winter we were here, the pipes froze and we almost did too."

"You did a good job of fixing it up," he said, looking around.

"Had to," she said. "There was nobody else to fix it up for me." Her smile was a wan offering to a kindred spirit. Both of them had chosen to remain "alone," and shared some of the same emotions and experiences that resulted from that decision.

"Know what you mean," he offered in response. "I have to say, though, I sure am glad Jennifer was there when that tree came down. Even if she stabbed me as she rolled it off of me."

"Wait!" said Jennifer. "You mean I'm the one who hurt you?" She sounded horrified.

"It wasn't your fault," he said. "You had to get that trunk off of me. If you'd have rolled it the other way it would have crushed my head."

"I was trying to help you, not hurt you," she wailed.

"I'm more than willing to suffer the latter, to have you there for the former," he said.

"Like I said, Dear," said Mindy. "You're going to have to do something nice for him."

A week passed, and then another, and no more was seen of The Hermit. Neither Mindy nor Jennifer told anyone what had happened. In a way, he was their little secret, and what had happened between them was nobody else's business.

It was early June, so Jennifer didn't have to go to school. Her mother was there to put the ointment on her scar four times a day. The only problem was that Jennifer got bored, because she was confined to the house.

She did exercises, taking a page from The Hermit's book about exercise helping things heal. Slowly, as she continued twisting and moving and bending, she got to the point where pulling at the skin on her back didn't hurt so badly. Eventually, "pain" wasn't the right word any more. It was stiff, and pulled when she moved. She was constantly aware of it, but she no longer winced as her body got back its normal range of motion.

The time for her appointment came and she went to see Doctor Zimmerman, who had her take off her shirt. She felt weird, being topless in front of a man, but he paid no attention to her breasts at all, spending all his time peering at her back. His finger traced the line of his work and she shivered.

"Looks good," he pronounced. "I think we got all the foreign matter out of the wound."

"I was sure you had," said her mother, who had been sitting in a chair against one wall. She'd put lotion on the wounds for weeks, and knew them like she knew the lines on her own palm.

The doctor handed Jennifer her blouse. "So ... have you told The Hermit yet that you're going to marry him?"

There was a long silence in the room. Then Jennifer said, "What?" in a confused voice.

"You don't remember? I'm not surprised," he said. "It was something you said while you were going under the anesthetic. People often don't remember such things."

"What did I say?" Now Jennifer sounded worried.

The doctor chuckled. "You were talking about how you saved his life, and how he took care of you, and then you said you were going to marry him some day."

Her mother laughed out loud, and Jennifer shot her a venomous look.

"You didn't tell him that ... did you?" she asked Doctor Zimmerman, worry in her voice.

"Of course not," he said, smiling. "That's privileged medical information. Doctor patient confidentiality and all that."

Mindy laughed even harder and then gasped out her apologies to her daughter.

On the way home, Jennifer chastised her mother for the laughter.

"I know," said Mindy. "I shouldn't have laughed. And I wasn't laughing at you. I was imagining his face, while you told him that, and it seemed so comical I had to laugh."

"Well I'm not telling him that!" barked Jennifer.

"I know, Sweetheart," said her mother. A mile or two went by. "You could do a lot worse, come to think of it," said Mindy. "Maybe you should tell him."

And then she laughed some more, reaching over to poke her daughter until Jennifer started laughing with her.

That incident reminded Mindy that she had promised Doctor Foster she would make sure Bobby went to his checkup. So instead of driving home, she steered the car to the turnoff to the long winding driveway that led to the A-frame.

"Mom!" said Jennifer, sounding worried. "Don't you dare!"

"I'm not going to tell him about your undying affection, and matrimonial plans for him," giggled Mindy. "I just need to make sure he went for his checkup, like you just did for yours."

"Oh," said the girl. "Okay then."

"But you can tell him while we're here!" said Mindy brightly.

Then she laughed again. But she laughed alone this time.

There was no indication anybody was around when they pulled up in front of the house. The garage was closed up. When she turned the car off and opened her door, Mindy heard the same forest sounds that surrounded their own home. She loved those sounds. It was one reason she had told herself she would never leave the mountains. She stood, just breathing in the fresh air as Jennifer got out of the car. She was still a bit slow moving around. Her scars were both thick and stiff, which was why it was so important that the special cream be massaged into them.

"I'm surprised he doesn't have a dog," said Mindy.

"Me too," said Jennifer.

Bobby stepped from behind a big Walnut tree that had screened his approach from both women.

"Hey," he said, his voice neither soft nor loud. Both women jumped.

"Good Lord," gasped Mindy. "Don't sneak up on us like that!"

"Don't trespass and I won't," he said, his voice reasonable. Then, as he saw both of them react negatively to that, he held up a hand. "Kidding," he said. He frowned. "You know that's the first time I've used that word in probably ten years?" He shrugged. "So ... what's up?"

"We just got back from Jennifer's checkup with the surgeon, and he says she's doing wonderfully."

"That's great," said Bobby.

"And I thought I'd come trespass, spy and be nosy and ask what Doctor Foster said during your follow-up appointment."

His reaction answered for him.

"You didn't go ... did you," she accused.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just walked probably three miles, and I'm fine."

"That's not the point," she said. "I promised him you'd be there."

"You're not my keeper," he said, his voice a little stiff.

"No, I'm not," she said. "I'm your neighbor. I'd like to think I'm your new friend. And friends care about each other. You had a chance that day to tell me off, and tell the doctor that I have no authority over you, and that it isn't my place to make sure you do anything at all. But you heard me promise to get you to that appointment and you didn't say a word. And now you want to make me break a promise. I don't know-"

She stopped as he held up both hands, palms toward her.

"If I promise to go, will you please stop trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Yes," she said, smugly. "Will you honor your promise?"

"Of course. I'm a man of my word. I always have been, and always will be."

"All right then. Thank you. Now, we should probably be going. I'm sure you have tons and tons of important hermit type things to do."

"Thank you for dropping by," he said, formally. "Please feel free to trespass on many future occasions. I should think that two or maybe even three times a year should suffice." He bowed.

"You are so silly," said Jennifer.

"I wondered if you were going to speak to me today or not," he said.

Remembering the doctor's revelation, Jennifer blushed. She hadn't had time to think about that, or figure out what it meant. Suddenly she was tongue tied. Her mother saved the day.

"Really, we should go," she said. "Honor your promise!"

"I will!" he said.

It wasn't until they were turning into their own driveway, that Jennifer said: "You know, Mom ... he didn't actually ever make a promise. He just asked what you would do if he did."

Mindy groaned as she brought the car to a stop.

"That little sneak!" she complained. "He thinks he's so clever. Well, two can play that game. I think it's time to bake cookies. And perhaps we'll bake enough that we can take a plate of them to The Hermit of Scarecrow Valley!"

The cookies had, in fact, been made. But during the process, one of Mindy's clients emailed her with a rush job that would take two or three days of work to get done. So Jennifer said she would take the cookies and exact the required promise.

Mindy wasn't so hot on that idea, but Jennifer insisted that, while her back was still tight, her legs were fine, and that she needed to get back to her hiking regimen anyway. It kept her strong and let her eat whatever she liked, in whatever quantities she wished to. Like the cookies. She ate a dozen of them and didn't worry because she knew she'd walk those calories off.

Finally Mindy gave in, which is what resulted in the discovery that Jennifer's bras no longer fit.

It was the first time since the accident that she had even tried to put one on. But something had happened. The bra was too small. At first she thought it had shrunk, maybe from not being used. She had old shoes that were the same size as the shoes she currently wore, but which she couldn't get on her feet. They appeared to have shrunk while they lay, unworn, in her closet. So she thought the same thing, whatever it was, might have happened to her bra.

But all her bras were too small.

"You're probably going through a growth spurt," said her mother. "We'll get you some new ones."

"Don't hurry," said Jennifer. "I've gotten used to not having one on. I kind of like it. Is that strange?"

"Of course not," said Mindy. "I don't know who invented bras, but women have hated them from the very beginning. I wouldn't wear them myself, except that I'd look like I had two lumps of warm Jell-O under my shirt if I didn't." That made them both laugh.

It also made Jennifer go to her room and put on an old T shirt, which was also too small, and stand in front of her mirror, bouncing up and down on her toes, watching her breasts to see if they quivered or moved under her shirt. They did, as it turned out, though not that much.

Looking at her shirt-covered breasts in the mirror, they didn't look any bigger, but she knew they were. That made her feel like she was making progress as a woman too. Her thoughts then went to The Hermit. She wondered if he would be able to tell that her breasts had grown. He had stared at them before. He was the only man to have seen them naked, except for the doctor, who had paid them no attention at all.

She realized that her nipples had gotten hard, for some reason. It was the first time she had seen her own nipples, poking through her shirt. It made her feel grown up, somehow. She brought the fingertips of both hands up to stroke those bumps lightly, and felt the same thrills she always felt when she played with them. She was pretty sure she masturbated, but she'd never known anyone she felt like she could actually ask that kind of information from. She had learned years ago how good it felt to rub high up between her tight, white pussy lips. And squeezing her nipples always felt wonderful. She knew some girls at school had things they inserted inside them. They whispered and snickered about such things, though Jennifer was never included. Still, she heard bits and snatches. She had never pushed anything except a tampon inside her own body, and that didn't make her feel anything except a desire to get it over with.

So she was a little like a half-baked cherry cobbler, no pun intended, which had all the ingredients necessary to become a tasty, sought-after treat, but which wasn't quite ready yet, and didn't know it was about to become a full-fledged dessert.

That was the girl who decided to leave the too-tight T shirt on while she went to take a plate of cookies to The Hermit.

It took her an hour to hike to The Hermit's house. Her mother called him Bobby, but Jennifer unconsciously romanticized things by thinking of him in more impersonal terms as "The Hermit." Her mental image of him, though, as she hiked through the forest, was anything but impersonal or vague. In her mind, he was larger than life. She remembered watching him swing the double-bitted axe, and his body swelled in her memory to Paul Bunyan proportions. His eyes were like dark wells she could fall down into.

She was intelligent enough to understand that this attraction she felt to this mysterious man was the basis for her drug-induced ravings about marriage, but at the same time, the thought of seeing him soon ... of talking to him ... of being close to him ... brought a funny feeling to her stomach. It was the same feeling she'd had when she had to read her essay at a school assembly. She had entered a contest and won. Had she known she'd have to read it aloud to the entire faculty and student body, she wouldn't have even entered. But that had been fear. She knew that. Fear of failure, even though she had won. Fear of rejection. That's what it had really been.

She puzzled about that, walking along. Why would she be afraid of rejection by The Hermit? She had no reason to believe he would tell her to go away and never return. He owed her, for pity's sake. As she walked, and worried away at the issue, she finally realized that this felt like when she wanted someone to like her at school, but wasn't sure that outcome would happen.

He owed her ... but what she really wanted was for him to like her. But that was crazy. He was as old as her Uncle Josh ... old enough, almost, to be her father!

And that led her to think that, perhaps, she wished he was her father. That was crazy too, but it was the only thing she could think of that made any sense.

What she did not think about, was the fact that she was a healthy young woman, in whose veins hormones were flowing that were encouraging her to find a mate. She did not think about the fact that hormones do not recognize age differences as inhibiting factors to potential relationships. And, because she'd never had a boyfriend, she didn't recognize that, in all probability ... she had a crush on The Hermit of Scarecrow Valley.

Bobby heard her coming long before he could see who she was. He was surprised at the noise she was making when he finally saw her. She usually walked much more quietly. Pulling binoculars from his pouch, he studied her face. She wasn't watching where she was going. She was distracted by something she was thinking about. He had seen men die because of the look that was on her face. When they stopped paying attention, they missed critical clues to deadly traps.

He couldn't resist scaling a tree and letting her walk under him. She didn't even see the mess of leaves he had scuffed up at the bottom of the tree. She was obviously headed to his house. She had a backpack with her, but it was slung over one shoulder, instead of being worn as designed. 'Of course,' he thought. Her back would still be painful. She didn't have her bow with her this day, either.

When she was a hundred yards past him, he dropped down out of the tree and began stalking her. He made a game of it, getting closer and closer, to see when she'd hear him. He was less than fifty feet behind her when she suddenly stopped and turned her head, left, then right, as if trying to locate a noise.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat.

She jumped and whirled.

"Don't do that!" she yelled.

"If you'd have been paying attention, you'd have heard me long ago," he said.

"I don't need to hear you!" she snapped. "You're not dangerous to me!"

"But I could have been someone else ... who was dangerous to you."

It could legitimately be argued that he was being paranoid, or that he was taking himself much too seriously, or something like that. Most would agree that in those particular woods, there really wasn't anything of real danger, other than injury from a fall that might render a hiker unable to get back to civilization. In other words, it could be argued that he was trying to teach her a lesson she didn't really need to learn.

One person who would make that argument was Jennifer herself.

"I didn't come here to get a lecture on bogeymen in the forest!" she snapped. "I came here to give you some cookies and get you to promise to go see the doctor!"

Bobby, poor man, thought they were still playing a game. After all, that's basically how he passed every day since coming to Scarecrow Valley. He played what amounted to games to pass the time.

"I did promise," he said.

"No ... you did not," she said, her voice steady as she stomped toward him. "You asked what my mother would do if you did make a promise, but you never actually made that promise."

He stared at her. She waited for him to say something. But he just kept staring. Then, as she got closer, she realized his gaze was lower than her eyes. She looked down to see those nipples were stiff again. Stiff with anger? She wondered how that worked. But the anger gave her what her grandmother would have called "gumption" and she kept walking until she was standing right in front of him.

"You're staring at my breasts again."

His eyes jerked up to her face.

"Sorry!" he said quickly.

"I know they're all pretty and all that," she said, her voice sarcastic. "But right now I'm unhappy with you, and I'm not sure I want you staring at my breasts!"

He blinked and she thought about how she had phrased that. She had meant it to mean "Stop looking at my breasts!" But it hadn't come out quite like that, and she knew it. She realized there was a little part of her brain that had made her phrase things such that it sounded like, at some future time, she might not object to him staring at her breasts. And that's because that little part of her brain actually wanted him to do that.

She could suddenly see the wheels turning in his own head as he evaluated that comment. His eyes slid back down and she brought her hands up to cover her stiff nipples. His eyes snapped back up.

"I'm sorry. I really am!"

"Promise me you'll go to the doctor for your follow up appointment," she said.

"I promise," he said, with no hesitation.

"Promise me it will be within two days," she added.

"I promise," he said.

She dropped her hands.

His eyes slid down.

And in those few, tumultuous seconds, she experienced the elation of the epiphany that she was desirable to a man. She didn't fully understand what that meant. That knowledge was still a big, foggy ball. But he had not rejected her. He could not keep his eyes off her. Well ... part of her, anyway. But she'd take what she could get.

She took the backpack off her shoulder and got into it to get the foil-wrapped cookies out. She extended them to him.

"Chocolate chip," she said. "My mom baked them."

"Thanks," he said, taking the package. He frowned. "This is all very strange."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's been a really long time since I wanted someone to like me," he said.

"I like you," she said. "My mom likes you too."

His face, above his beard, turned dark red.

"I know," he said. "And I'm pleased about that. Really. I'm just not used to it, though. I'm not used to being around pretty ..." he stopped, and his face got even darker. "Women," he finished. "So I'm not good at controlling my ..." He stopped again, looking around as if the word he wanted was a leaf on a tree. Jennifer watched as his right hand went to cover the front of his pants, but she could tell it was an unconscious gesture. "My behavior," he finally decided, looking back at her. "I know it's impolite to stare at a woman's ... um ... breasts. I just can't help it. But I'm going to work on it. I promise you that too."

All this was new to Jennifer, but she had instincts that were as old as humanity. And she had those hormones rushing through her veins. He had not rejected her. Not only that, he had proclaimed both her and her mother, who she thought of as one of the most beautiful women in the world, as being "pretty."

"You saved my life," she said. "For that, you get special privileges."

He blinked at her several times, looking helpless. "I don't understand," he finally said.

She smiled. Some might have called it a predatory smile, though she didn't mean it that way.

"You have permission to look at them." She suddenly imagined him peering at her breasts at dinner at her house. "Sometimes," she amended. "When we're alone."

"What?" He was clearly confused. "You just told me to stop!"

"I changed my mind," she said, actually putting her nose higher in the air. "I'm a woman. We get to do that."

He stood there for a long twenty seconds while she waited for him to respond.

"Let me try this again," he finally said. "All this is really strange, and it's going to take me some time to get used to it."

"You have all the time you like," she said.

He cocked his head, looking into her eyes. Then she watched as those deep, black eyes slid downwards. She actually felt her nipples crinkle and get even harder. She concentrated on resisting the urge to reach and squeeze them. That feeling was back in her belly again.

But this time she knew it wasn't fear.

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