Elizabeth Hunter - A Hidden Fire

He sank into one of the large chairs that decorated the porch and scowled. “I am the same age as you.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. And put some clothes on. You’re not impressing me with your muscles and I’m cold just looking at you.” She pretended to shiver as he opened his mouth to respond, but she only held up a hand. “I don’t care if you’re a walking space heater. Go get dressed.”

Scowling, he went back to his room to change into a pair of the jeans he kept at the house and a long-sleeved thermal shirt. He walked back to Isabel, who sat on the porch, staring up at the stars and smiling a little.

“Father said she was bright, but I didn’t really believe him.” She winked at Giovanni as he leaned against a dark wooden post and stared into the forest. “A human? And after all, who in her right mind would get involved with you?”

“You’re so amusing,” he said as he scanned the tree line, searching for a hint of her.

“But she is. Very smart. And bold. She found her way to the lodge house today and tried to find someone to teach her how to ride a horse.”

Isabel let out a tinkling laugh. “She had this very elaborate story worked out for Esteban’s family, because she didn’t know what they knew about us. They let her know she didn’t have anything to hide, and then one of the boys started giving her lessons.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?” she asked with a curious brow. “Oh, I see that it does.”

She smirked and looked toward the trees again. “One of the big strapping ones that leads the rock-climbing trips, I think.”

Giovanni growled and walked down the porch steps before she started laughing at him. “She’s with Gustavo now, calm yourself. He’ll bring her back shortly.”

He curled a lip at her, but she just chuckled. He’d never had an older sister as a human, but had always imagined if he had, she would have been a lot like Isabel. He walked back onto the porch and sat next to her in a chair. He could feel the weight of unasked questions hanging over them as they waited for Beatrice to return.

“What happened to the girl, Giovanni? Her eyes are too sad for someone so young.”

“I can’t-” He cleared his throat. “You need to ask her that question. It’s her story to tell when she wants.”

She snorted. “You infuriating man, I only put up with your secrets because I know you do it to everyone.”

“It’s not my place-”

“Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it a million times, you don’t have to repeat yourself,” she muttered. “At least I know if I tell you a secret, your lips are sealed.”

He shrugged and watched the trail leading to the lodge. He could hear the faint sounds of Beatrice and Gustavo as they made their way through the forest, and his heart started a quick beat. Isabel must have heard it, and she looked at him.

“Are you in love with her?”

He stood up and walked to the railing, unwilling to share his feelings, even with someone he trusted as much as Isabel.

“I think you are.” She paused before she continued quietly. “She’s very young, my friend.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“And she’s been hurt.”

“Yes.”

She stared at him until he met her dark, piercing gaze. He could hear Beatrice and Gustavo coming through the forest.

Isabel took a deep, calming breath. “I’ll pray for you. For both of you.”

His head turned when the two riders broke through the trees. He watched Beatrice ride the horse through the lush meadow. Her skin was pale and almost seemed to glow in the twilight. A healthy flush stained her cheeks, and a smile crossed her face as she listened to something Gustavo was joking about; but the light did not reach her eyes when they finally met his.

“Thank you, Isabel. For your help. For everything.”

“You are welcome, my friend. You are both welcome.”

Giovanni and Beatrice fell into a careful rhythm together in Cochamó, as they had from the beginning of their relationship. She explored the valley during the day, accompanied by one of the human family that worked for Gustavo and Isabel running the small tourist lodge. She would come back to the house to eat a quiet meal and read before going to sleep. There was no electricity in the house, but stone fireplaces warmed every room, and running water came from an old tower that stood next to the stable.

They spoke little, and her silence, which usually soothed him, began to tug at him the longer it continued. She would not speak about her time with Lorenzo, and only occasionally would their conversation venture farther than incidental information about the valley or its residents.

Worse than her silence were the weeping dreams she had every night when she finally fell asleep. He sat, silently crouched outside her bedroom door for hours, as she cried and murmured in her sleep and the memories tormented her. Her heart raced, and he could scent her panic throughout the house. As much as he tried to respect her privacy, eventually Giovanni tried to enter her room and wake her, only to find the door locked tight.

By the seventh night, he could no longer take the escalating nightmares.

“Dad…no,” she sobbed. “Gio, don’t…don’t let them-” She broke off and he could hear her cries come through the thick wooden door.

He rose from his knees and pushed his way inside, breaking the lock in one swift shove before he walked to her bed and knelt beside her, anxiously stroking her hair.

“Beatrice,” he said through gritted teeth, “please, wake up. Please -”

Her eyes flickered open and he cupped her face in his hands, brushing the tears away with his thumbs as she stared at him with swollen eyes.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered desperately. “I cannot…what would you have me do? I will do anything-”

“Don’t let them take me,” she said in a hollow voice.

Giovanni gave a hoarse groan and pulled her into his arms, clutching her to his chest as he rocked her in his arms. She tensed for a moment, but finally heaved a great sigh and let her head rest on his shoulder. He sat on the bed, stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth.

He cradled her as the waning moon streamed through her window. Finally, he reached over to the bedside table and lit a candle. He was wearing only a pair of loose pants, and he felt her tears hot on his chest.

“Do you want to forget?” he asked. “I can make you forget. Maybe everything. Is it better that way?” He ignored the ache in his chest, and waited for her to respond.

“Will you remember?”

He tilted her face toward his, memorizing the silver tracks on her cheeks and her swollen eyes. He locked away the sound of her nightmares in his mind, and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her panic as it stained the air.

“Yes. I will remember everything.”

She nodded, and he finally saw a familiar hint of steel return to her eyes.

“If you can remember, I can remember.”

He bent his head and kissed her softly on the forehead, then on each cheek, and finally laid a soft kiss on her mouth, as if sealing a promise. She made no move to leave his embrace, so he tucked her head under his chin and leaned against the headboard.

“Giovanni?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me your story.”

He closed his eyes and hugged her, letting out a sigh before he began in a low voice.

“My name is Jacopo, and I was seven when my Uncle Giovanni found me…”

Cochamó Valley, Chile

August 2004

She listened for hours, wrapped in his warm arms as he told her the tale of a small boy, plucked out of poverty by the friends of a beloved uncle. He had been an indulged child after his early years, fed a steady diet of art, philosophy, religion, and learning in a time of flowering human achievement.