The water would be cold, but that was no matter. I wasn’t planning on falling in this time.
When we both had our shoes off, we held hands again and waded in to the stream. It was only calf deep at the lowest spot, but it was relatively wide. In the spring it would be deeper, the water would move faster, and I wouldn’t be able to wear my sensible black pencil skirt without getting it wet.
“You okay?” Duane asked, his thoughtful frown still in place.
I nodded and bent down to retrieve a blue rock from beneath the water and straightened. I held the stone up to the sun and studied the veins of white running through it.
Then, apropos of nothing, I said, “When I was ten, my daddy bought me a three-year subscription to National Geographic magazine for my birthday.”
I glanced at Duane, found his thoughtful frown had been replaced by a thoughtful almost smile. “Is that so?”
I nodded, releasing his hand so I could walk a bit farther into the stream. “Yes. According to him, I’d wanted the magazine since I was four and a half. I first saw it at the library and asked Santa Claus for it every year. And it wasn’t the kid version either. I didn’t want the kid version. I wanted the real thing.”
“Why did you want it so much?”
“I loved seeing pictures and reading stories about the world, especially the places I didn’t know existed. I spent hours getting lost in the pages, imagining myself scuba diving in Fiji, hand-harvesting saffron in Greece, or working with Jane Goodall’s chimpanzees in Africa.” I glanced at him over my shoulder, wanting to see his reaction.
“Chimpanzees?” His smile grew.
“Yes. In Africa.”
The brightness in Duane’s eyes grew radiant, and felt almost overwhelming. He appeared to be pleased—more than pleased—yet I was surprised he didn’t look at all amused. Just interested and happy. Had I ever seen that look directed at me before?
“Do you still have a subscription?”
I shook my head. “No. My momma was cleaning my room about a year later and she saw the magazine had what she considered dirty pictures. Specifically, naked photographs of men and women, members of isolated tribes in South America.”
“Oh no!” Now he looked amused in addition to interested and happy. “What happened?”
“At first she was livid and made me go talk to Reverend Seymour about what I’d seen.”
Duane grimaced, like he was bracing for the worst. I waved his concern away as I turned to face him.
“It was fine. He’d listened patiently while I’d burned scarlet red, describing all the various body parts I’d been exposed to and my feelings on the subject of modesty.”
He laughed, really a chuckle, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. I liked the way his laugh sounded against the symphony of whispering water, rustling leaves, and bird song. I also liked the way he looked, ankle deep in a pure mountain stream, the blue sky and tall trees behind him.
Again, I found myself settling into the moment, taking a mental snapshot of his happy and handsome face. An inadvertent sigh escaped my lips, because I was happy, too. Duane Winston was a good listener.
I think I was staring, lost in the vision of him and a daydream, because when he spoke next the sound startled me a bit.
“Did Reverend Seymour take the magazines?”
I shook my head, mostly to clear it, and glanced at my toes. My feet were cold, but the cold felt good. “No. Eventually, he handed the magazine back to my mother and told her there wasn’t anything wrong with me learning about the world, but there might be if I formed my own conclusions without guidance. He suggested she use the magazines as an opportunity to discuss the world with me, that we should go through the articles together, and she should answer any questions I might have.”
“Well…that’s good, right?”
I met his gaze again, gave him a rueful half smile. “When the magazines came after that, my momma kept them locked in her closet until she could find time to go through them with me. For the first few months we’d sit down together after dinner and she’d explain things from her perspective even when I didn’t ask. I liked the one-on-one time with Momma, but it wasn’t the same, you know? The magazines lost their magic. I couldn’t become lost in pages and pictures and possible adventures when each article was dissected for faults and ungodliness.”
Duane’s thoughtful frown was back. I had all his focus and holding his weighty gaze was difficult. He was searching mine and something about his persistent interest made me feel vulnerable. Regardless, I held his stare with a half smile and eventually shrugged, blowing out a deep breath.
“I think my momma sensed my growing dissatisfaction, because after a time the magazines just piled up in her closet. They didn’t renew the subscription.”