Perilous Assurance

  ******

  Her 'sixty-seven light-blue Plymouth Barracuda with the white hood fit neatly in the parking space, and she slid out, shut the door and locked it, and headed down the quaint street toward The Freebooter Pub, tucking her keys in her shoulder bag. Her hair swirled around her face in the autumn breeze, and she reached her free hand up to hold the side strands back from her face when she saw him emerge from the pub's green and black entrance onto the sidewalk, his hands in his coat pockets as he watched her approach, and her heart inexplicably skipped a beat. For a split second she felt a jolt of panic and thought she might turn and head back to her car and she slowed her pace as she neared him. Had she made the right decision? She blinked slowly as she reached him, and stopped a few feet in front of him. He had to be six foot, three at the least, she thought. At five, seven, she considered herself tall, but even with her boots, she had to lift her face up towards him, and they eyed each other for a moment.

  "You have a nice car."

  "Thank you. It's very dependable."

  "I'm glad you decided to join me." He smiled softly, but his eyes looked serious. She nodded, and waited for him to open the door to the small pub, and she walked from the bright sunshine into the dim establishment as he followed. The waiter led them to a tiny table next to the multi-paned window facing the street, and Clay held her chair out for her.

  "Thank you." She set her cane against the table and shrugged out of her rust corduroy jacket and he took it from her and hung it on the back of her chair. Glad that she'd stopped by her apartment and wiped the rest of the chalk dust off her sweater and skirt, as well as the large smudge across her forehead, she glanced up at him quickly and smiled as she sat down. All right, he was being quite the gentleman, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. He removed his black peacoat and hung it on the back of his chair and sat down.

  "You're very welcome." They picked up the menus and perused the list of usual pub fare. "Do you see anything that appeals to you?" He leaned forward as he spoke to her, his eyes seeming friendly and at ease as he peered at her over the top of his menu. She squinted into his eyes for a moment over hers.

  "I'll have a BLT and a cup of black coffee," she answered casually, trying to assess him without his noticing as he looked back down at his menu, not sure at all if this was a good idea. Oh well, this could be interesting, at the very least. She could get through it. An hour at the most. The waiter returned and Clay ordered for the two of them, and she folded her hands on the tabletop and lifted her chin, feeling a little exposed now without the menu to shield her. She noticed that he was staring at her hair, and she smoothed back some windblown strands and looked briefly out the window at a couple of fall leaves stuck in the corner of one of the panes of glass. Above her, a single falling red leaf from one of the maple trees caught her eye and she let her gaze follow its slow, meandering descent to earth as it landed on the sidewalk in front of the window...almost as if it were choosing the exact spot on which to land.

  "That's an interesting cane you have there."

  She turned her gaze away from the leaf and back to his face. "Oh, yes, one of my art students carved the design for me and painted it. It's very special to me."

  "What do you want to know about me?" he asked her amiably. She saw that his eyes were narrowed at her as he extended one arm out to rest on the back of the chair.

  "Well..."

  "Ask me anything." He brought his arm around and rested both elbows on the table and clasped his hands together as he leaned toward her, an engaging smile on his lips and she found herself returning his smile, if a little tenuously.

  "All right," she cleared her throat and began, her tone serious. "What were you doing on our campus the night of the protest?" She tilted her head and smoothed back a stray strand of hair from her cheek as she waited for his reply.

  "You need to go further back in time with your inquiries for me to answer properly." All right, he was playing games with her. She sighed.

  "You're avoiding the question."She eyed him warily.

  "No, I'm not." She narrowed her eyes at him, as he continued to smile into her eyes. "I have to start at the beginning."

  "Then, please do." She sighed and leaned back in her chair, and they both looked up as the waiter returned with their drinks, setting them down in front of them. "Thank you." The waiter nodded at her. She took a sip of her coffee, then returned her gaze to his narrowed eyes.

  "Well, my full name is Clayton Payne Adamore. I'm an architect, and I have an office in Plattsburgh, in upper New York state." She raised her eyebrows at that revelation....an architect? He cleared his throat as if he were launching into a lengthy story. "It's a larger town than Brooksford, but not by much." He looked at her thoughtfully as he tucked a strand of his dark hair behind his ear, and scratched his lightly bearded jaw. She took the opportunity, as she listened to him, to study his angular face, his strong aquiline nose, the thick slash of black eyebrows above very warm, brown eyes, and his dark lashes."My firm, which I opened in 'sixty-one, has been very successful, mostly due to the commercial building boom occurring at that time." He paused. "Am I boring you yet?"

  "No, not yet," she laughed softly at that, and she noticed that his eyes brightened at her reply. They both looked up again as the waiter arrived with their meal, and they leaned back as he set their plates down in front of them.

  "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

  "No, we're fine. Thank you." As the waiter departed, Clay handed her the bottle of ketchup, and she passed it back to him after squirting a small mound on her plate. After covering the entire top of his fries, he set the bottle back in the holder and took a bite of his cheeseburger, and chewed, looking a bit anxious to continue.

  Mattie picked up a fry, dipped it in the ketchup and took a bite. "You sound like a very astute businessman." He raised his brows and swallowed.

  "Well, I should tell you that I'm a man with two countries - duel citizenship." He wiped his mouth with the black cloth napkin. She narrowed her brows as she chewed, and he continued. "My mother is from Plattsburgh, and my father is from Bickerton West on the coast of Nova Scotia." She nodded. Well, that would explain the occasional eh, she guessed.

  "How did they meet?" She understood where he wanted to go with his story, and ate slowly as she waited for his answer, glancing into his eyes as little as possible.

  He smiled. "My mother's family took a summer trip to Nova Scotia in 'twenty-nine, and decided to go on a boat tour. My dad was a ship hand for the summer. They were both quite young, about eighteen, but they caught each other's eye, knew right away that they wanted to be together, and somehow managed to meet again and run off and marry."

  "That's very romantic."

  "Yes, and they're still happily married after forty years. They moved to Plattsburgh after they were married and opened a printing company, which he sold a couple of years ago. I'm the second of three children, and I was born in Bickerton West. So I also call Canada home. My entire life had been back and forth, between countries." He took a bite of his cheeseburger, and watched her thoughtfully as he chewed. "I like the idea of belonging to two countries, and having options. The island of Cape Breton, north of Bickerton West, has to be the most beautiful spot on earth. It makes America seem manic."

  "So you've never thought of declaring for one or the other?"

  "Yes, I did once, a few years ago, but I decided against it. I found that I enjoyed the slightly schizophrenic existence."

  "It sounds like you've had an interesting life."

  "Yes, well, about two years ago, things changed for our family." His eyes turned serious. "My sister's son, Henry, was killed in Vietnam. His tank ran over a mine. And that changed everything."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry." She swallowed and looked at him, feeling a sadness sweep over her. She set her sandwich back on the plate without taking a bite.

  "Thank you," he paused, and blinked at her thoughtfully. "It was a difficult time. He was only eighteen
and a great guy, wicked sense of humor, with a sound future ahead of him. Christina - my sister, took it really hard. She hasn't been the same since." He ate a fry. "After that, I had a tough time concentrating on my business, and I tried to think of what I could do that might make some kind of difference in this crazy world, besides making a lot of money, which I'd already pretty much accomplished." He picked up his glass of water. "I don't mean that as boasting, by the way. Money is not a big motivator to me."

  "And what did you decide to do?"

  "First, I learned as much as I could about the war." He set down his glass and looked at her seriously. "I don't know your full views on the conflict, Mattie, but I'm totally convinced that we shouldn't be there at all. It's my belief that Nixon can't admit that the war has dragged on for so long, and it's become a matter of pride to him."

  "I only know it's tearing our country apart," she admitted. "It's totally different in concept from the second world war. It seems to me that the domino theory could get our country involved in too many countries' internal conflicts."

  "Exactly, I feel the same." He nodded to her. "Think about it, though, citizens have to challenge their government's authority if they think it's gone too far in a conflict. It's our duty, really. The young men heading off to war are too young to vote, yet old enough to die in combat. Too young to drink, but old enough to kill someone." He shook his head. "You know, Mattie, at our ages, we're not the establishment. We're somewhere in between. Too old to have gone to war, and too young to have started it."

  "I never thought of it like that, but I guess you're right." She nodded thoughtfully at his statement.

  "But, to get back to it...I was a huge fan of Kennedy and his concept of the Peace Corps. I finally decided to spend two years of my life helping who I could in this part of the country, in connection with the war." She nodded at him, lost in his earnest gaze, and now fully engrossed, and her meal sat unattended. "I left the firm in my younger brother's hands. Caleb's an architect as well, mainly because he wanted to try to one-up me," he laughed. "No, that's not entirely true. He's really good at what he does and trustworthy as well. I need to call him this week, and check on a few things, now that I think of it. So, anyway, I bought a camper - a small 'sixty-five Trotwood Lark - and for the last year and a half, I've been traveling around New York, Vermont, and New Hampshire, volunteering at veteran's hospitals."

  "That's very admirable." She tilted her head at him, studying him, and decided that she'd certainly misjudged him. "But, how did you come to be on our campus?"

  "Happenstance." He smiled at her. "As I traveled around to veteran's hospitals, out of curiosity mainly, I checked out some of the college protests and talked to students. One thing led to another and I ended up going to other protests, and talking to the students and the college administrations trying to quell the unrest." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I would hear of a planned rally, and head over, if I could, to talk to students about what to expect, and the college president, if they would see me, usually, on the best approaches to keeping everything safe and calm, based on what I've witnessed at other schools. Volunteering with the veterans is my main focus, however."

  "You carry a camera."

  "Yes, I do." He nodded. "I'm documenting what I see."

  "Did you photograph me the day of the sit-in arrests?"

  "Yes, but unintentionally." He eyed her as he sipped his water. "Your President Buckley ignored my suggestion to wait it out. Sometimes, in my opinion, it's best to hold off and let the students voice their concerns, then they'll quietly return to classes."

  "So you spoke to President Buckley before the sit-in?" Her voice was incredulous as she leaned toward him and scanned the pub to see if any other faculty were there. "The faculty heard nothing from him, other than the department chairmen, and then that awful memo was posted."

  "Yes, I saw both flyers in the lounge, so I went over to speak to him." His voice was filled with distaste. "I'm surprised he even talked to me. Unpleasant man. His mind was dead-set on getting rid of those students. Having them arrested, then expelled." He narrowed his eyes at her, and exhaled. "And you were right...what you said in your classroom earlier. Now that the draft is starting, those young men booted out of college will no doubt be heading straight for the war zone." They stared at each other. "But, getting back to the photos. I was taking random shots along the line and didn't realize you were there until after I'd taken a couple. That's when you turned and saw me." She nodded at him.

  "It's so frustrating not to be able to do anything for fear of reprisal. My friend, Fran, an English professor at Brooksford, was worried that I might lose my job for talking to the police on the students' behalf." She sat back in her chair. "So far, we haven't seen any incriminating news articles, so I guess I'm safe."

  "That is a shame. Our country and institutions still have many antiquated rules concerning personal freedoms." He picked up a fry.

  "Have you ever been arrested at a protest?"

  "Yes, I have." He looked at her squarely. "I've participated in several demonstrations, and was arrested last year at a protest march at my alma mater, the University of Buffalo." He took a deep breath. "There was no violence from the protesters. We laid in the streets in passive resistance and were pulled up and arrested."

  "How long were you in jail?"

  "Hmm..m. About twenty-four hours. I was charged with a misdemeanor, paid a fine, and was out to live my life again." He nodded at her. "I should let you know that I greatly admire Daniel Berrigan, the Jesuit priest, who has led so many marches around our country."

  "I've heard of him...and his brother."

  "Last year, he and eight others took hundreds of draft files and burned them in front of the Selective Service Office in protest of the up-coming draft and of the horrific civilian napalm deaths in Vietnam."

  "Yes, I saw that on the news."

  "Does it bother you that I've been arrested?" His eyes narrowed.

  "No, your life is your own." She tilted her head at him. "I do admire you for taking a stand on your principles."

  "There's been so much turmoil in our country since JFK's assassination...people have to step up."

  "This decade will surely be known as one of the most violent in our country's history." Mattie added thoughtfully. "With three assassinations - all good, caring men who championed people's rights and freedoms - gone in an instant."

  "I know. You can't help but wonder if the Vietnam war would have escalated under Kennedy as it did with LBJ."

  "But, then..." Mattie eyed him as she ate a fry. "There have been good things that have come out of this decade - civil rights, for instance."

  "Exactly. The sixties has been a decade of both good and bad...to the extremes, though, it appears. It's always amazed me that there are Americans who still want to keep our country segregated."

  "And, in some cases, the people who feel that way are our neighbors, or family..." Mattie sipped her water. "People are divided, and it shouldn't be that way. Not on the matter of people's rights and freedom, at any rate."

  "I agree," he nodded thoughtfully. "But....getting back to the photos. You don't have anything to worry about. I would never give my photos to the press."

  "Thank you." She chewed a fry and noticed that he was staring at her as if he were trying to decide something, so she tilted her head at him and raised her brows.

  "Do you mind if I ask what happened to your leg?" Clay's voice was thoughtful as he raised his glass of water to his lips.

  "Not at all," she eyed him with a slight smile. "But I have to start at the beginning." Her smile broadened as she saw his amusement.

  "I was hoping you'd say that."

  "Well..." She picked up a fry, holding it as she spoke. "I was born in Alexandria, Virginia, not far from D.C. It's a nightmare area, traffic-wise, that is, so I don't miss it at all. I love the small town feel of Brooksford. My parents are retired - they owned a real estate company - and travel. They're in Portugal rig
ht now, on a three-month trek thorough Europe, but we keep in touch." She took a bite. "I'm an only child and..."

  "I knew it." His eyes flew open as he gestured with his hand toward her.

  She looked at him, startled, her hazel eyes puzzled. "You could tell?"

  "Yes, you're obviously a very studious and serious-minded person." He raised his brows at her.

  "Not always. I know how to have a good time." Why did she feel slightly offended? She wasn't sure. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Besides, one has nothing to do with the other."

  "I meant that your personality lends itself to...hmm, how can I put this..." He held one hand out, searching for the words as she stared at him, slightly bemused at his sudden loss for words and she sipped her water and waited. "It lends itself to being able to entertain yourself alone for long periods of time." She almost spit out her mouthful of water at his words, and she leaned forward and swallowed, then laughed and picked up her napkin, still laughing as she wiped her lips.

  "Are you all right? Clay leaned toward her.

  "Yes....you mean I'm an introvert because I'm an only child?" she laughed again. "I am introspective, that's true, but I'm not sure you can pin it on not having siblings. It's just my nature."

  "Introspection was the word I was looking for." He was obviously annoyed with himself, and she laughed as he hit himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand, and smiled at her. "I'm an idiot. I apologize. I went blank there for a moment. It was intended as a compliment, but...please, go on."

  "Where was I...oh, umm. I had a normal childhood, with lots of cousins to interact with, so I wasn't off in a corner playing by myself for hours on end." They both laughed at that, and Mattie found that she was enjoying herself quite a bit more than she had anticipated. She wiped her eye, took a breath, and continued. "I graduated with a Master's in Art History and Education from George Mason University. I spent my junior year in Florence, Italy as an exchange student, and after graduating, taught at a community college for several years back home before moving to Brooksford in 'sixty-seven. I live on-campus, in faculty housing. A slightly unusual perk, from what I understand." She looked at him seriously. "And to answer your original question. I'd noticed a lump on my lower leg, and the doctors found an agressive tumor on my fibula. So my leg was amputated just below the knee."

  "How old were you?" He took a bite of his burger and wiped his mouth with the napkin, returning it to his lap.

  "Hmm...well, I was in college. Right after I'd returned from Europe, actually, at the end of my junior year in 'fifty-six." She tilted her head as she thought about it, and smiled. "So I was twenty."

  "Did you have a very long recuperation?"

  "Well, I spent the summer after the operation recuperating, and there was a period of adjustment with the prosthetic. But not so very long, all things considered." Mattie thought about it. "I went right back to school the next fall, and continued through to my Master's."

  "So you haven't considered it a hinderence." He said it as a statement.

  "A hinderence? Oh...oh...no, not in the least." She was surprised at that, and she leaned her elbows on the table and cradled her coffee in both hands as she looked at him squarely, blinking thoughtfully. "I consider myself very fortunate that the cancer hadn't spread, so the best course of action was amputation. It was scary at the time, I won't deny that, but I don't really think about it now. It's normal to me. Well, I do miss taking showers...it's just too slippery to be safe." she laughed. "I was recently fitted for a newer prosthetic though, and I'm just waiting for it to come in the first of December. I would love to throw that cane in the closet, but it depends on how the next prosthetic handles." She sipped her coffee and raised her eyebrows at him.

  "You put me to shame," he narrowed his eyes at her. "I know myself, and if that had happened to me at twenty, I probably would've felt very sorry for myself and cursed the world."

  "I don't think you would have at all," she laughed softly. "My philosophy, and I'm sure I was influenced greatly by my parents at some point...was 'why not me?' We're all in this world together, and no one can truly go through life without experiencing something traumatic they wished hadn't occurred." He nodded at her soberly, and they eyed each other for a moment. "Look at the men returning from Vietnam, as you're well aware," she continued. "What I had was so very minor compared to their experiences." She sipped her coffee. "What kind of a person would I be to complain about my small inconvenience?" She glanced out through the multi-paned window next to their table as a gust of wind swirled some leaves toward the glass, then turned her attention back to him.

  "It sounds like you had an interesting childhood as well. And that you adjusted very well to an unfortunate situation." He set his elbow on the table and rested his jaw on his fist, and she saw him slowly search her face, his eyes narrowed.

  "I did, but I hated my parents for a while when I was younger." Seeing him raise his brows in amusement, she continued. "They named me after my father's sister - Aunt Hattie - a strange woman who sent cold shivers up my spine every time we visited her and she kissed my neck." She scrunched up her shoulders as she laughed and he smiled, and his eyes crinkled. "And my mother is a landscape painter, and had always loved the abstract artist, Georgia O'Keeffe. Hence...Mattie O'Keeffe. I was determined to change my name legally at one point, and even consulted a lawyer when I was fifteen." She laughed and took a bite of her sandwich, chewing as she watched his smile broaden, noticing that his mouth had a gentleness to it that was very appealing. She returned her gaze to his eyes.

  "Mattie O'Keeffe..." He repeated her name slowly. "Hmm..m, you don't know how enchanting your name is, do you?"

  "I have never considered it enchanting," she laughed and shook her head, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a sip. "Not in the least. Not if you had known my aunt."

  "Well, it is, Mattie...." Clay's voice trailed off and she saw his eyes narrow and brighten. She swallowed and stared at him, riveted by his gaze. "It is."

  "Your check, sir." They both turned their heads in surprise as the waiter appeared out of nowhere and laid the black bill presenter on the table. "I'll be back to pick that up." He gathered up their plates, and disappeared into the back of the restaurant. Clay opened the presenter, glanced at the tab, and set it back down, reaching into his back pocket.

  "No, Clay, let me." She saw him stop and look at her questioningly.

  "Let you what?" He looked at her in amusement, but she persisted.

  "Let me pay my share of the bill." He still had his hand in his back pocket and he eyed her, shaking his head slightly, obviously perplexed at her request. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and looked at him earnestly. "Please, I would like to, very much." He continued to watch her, then shook his head again in concession, and withdrew his wallet from his pocket.

  "If you insist, but..."

  "I do insist." Mattie reached over and picked up the presenter, opened it and looked over the tab, then pulled her wallet out of her shoulder bag and counted out the bills for her meal. She tucked the money into the presenter, looking up as he cleared his throat.

  "Let me at least cover the tip in addition to my share, eh?"

  "All right, that's fine." She saw that his mouth was skewed in a slight smile.

  He reached into his wallet, extracting several bills and handed her the pile of five's and one's.

  "You're very generous," she raised her brows and smiled as she stuffed them in the presenter on top of her stack of bills.

  "Waiters are hard workers, in my opinion, and don't earn what they deserve." He tucked his wallet back in his pocket.

  "I agree with you." She took a deep breath, and gathered up her shoulder bag and rust-colored jacket. She got up from her chair and they stood facing each other at the end of the table. He took her jacket from her and walked behind her and she shrugged her arms into the sleeves as he held it for her, and she felt his warm hand brush her neck and hair as he hoisted the collar up on
her shoulders. She felt him pat her shoulder softly with his right hand, almost absent mindedly, and then he released her, shrugged on his own coat and they headed out the door into the orange-purple haze of dusk.

  "I enjoyed your company, Mattie O'Keeffe." He smiled down at her as they walked down the quaint, tree-lined street toward their cars. "I hope I answered everything to your satisfaction."

  "I enjoyed yours as well." She glanced up at him, and tossed her head back and the breeze blew her hair into her face as she smiled into his eyes. "And, yes, you did."

  "May I call on you the next time I'm in Brooksford?" They stopped as they reached her car.

  "Yes, I'd like that." She got out her keys and looked up at him. "When do you plan on being here next?"

  "I'll be back in Brooksford next weekend," he smiled. "I'll take you out to dinner next time I'm here."

  "I'll let you pay next time," she laughed.

  "I insist on it," he smiled, then pursed his lips, as if deciding something. "On second thought, this may sound like a crazy question, but are you able to ride horseback?"

  She laughed at that. "I've ridden since I was a child. Why?"

  "There's a stable a few miles from the place where I park the trailer when I'm here..."

  "Birchwood Stables?"

  He nodded. "I've been meaning to get down there."

  "I know the place. I've ridden there several times since I moved here."

  "Fantastic. Would you like to join me, then? Early Saturday morning? Around ten or so? Mornings are the best time to ride, in my opinion."

  She studied his face, making up her mind, as he gazed solemnly into her eyes. She inhaled the crisp evening air as her hair swirled around her face. "That sounds wonderful. Shall I meet you there?"

  "That's fine, if that's what you prefer." He smiled down at her. "I promise you'll be back at your college residence by curfew." She laughed at that.

  "You may joke about a curfew, but if you read my contract, you'd see how close to the truth that really is." She eyed him thoughtfully. "All right, I'll see you Saturday at ten at the stables." She turned, then swung back to him. "Oh, western or english?"

  "Western."

  She walked slowly into the street and stood by the driver's side, unlocking the door. "I'll call ahead and let them know we're coming." She rested her hand on the top of the door.

  "That would be great. See you then, Mattie."

  "Goodbye, Clay." She slid into her seat, resting her cane against the passenger seat and watched him in her rear view mirror as he strode briskly down the sidewalk and climbed into a black, soft top Jeep a few cars behind hers. She smiled as she started the engine, turned on the headlights, and pulled out into the narrow street and headed home. Hmm...she'd always been partial to Jeeps.