The Bitter And Sweet: A Novel

By Robert M. Eller

Love story between a man living apart from society in a cabin in a mountain meadow and a younger woman living in the outside world but knowing the hidden trail to the meadow. Most scenes take place in the meadow allowing an examination of how a man and a woman might interact outside of society's rule

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gotham Books
• Release date: Mar 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887758152

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A Man, A Lone

The rain began as a gentle intimation of something coming, a feeling of increased moisture in the air, a closing in and graying of the sky, a slight pickup in the wind, and the falling of a few stray and hardly noticed droplets of water. Alice hurried the pace of Meg, her horse. When she left on her ride that afternoon, she had been so sure that nature would be a cooperative spirit that she had dressed assuming that the predicted rain would not start until she was home again. Her only protection from the weather was a light denim jacket, linen shirt, and jeans.

Alice was only halfway over Covenant Mountain when the storm suddenly started in earnest. Almost immediately, Alice was in trouble. With the first surge of heavy rain, her horse became nervous. With the first flash of lightning, her horse grew terrified. By the first boom of thunder, her horse was frantic. Within seconds, all Alice could do was cling; Meg was rearing and out of control. Amid lightning flashes and thunder, with wind driving rain into her face, Alice was suddenly helpless—except to delay her fate. She was going to be thrown from Meg: the only question was when.

She heard a male voice coming with the wind. From out of the storm, a hand appeared on her horse’s neck and a man she did not know was suddenly beside her. With his hand on Meg’s mane, the man controlled the horse, forcing her back to earth while Alice dismounted to safety.

Once she was safely off the horse, the man did not look at Alice. He continued standing next to the mare with his hand on the mare’s neck, his eyes focused on the mare, his body pressed against the mare, and his voice whispering to the mare. With each flash and boom, the mare began to rise in fear, each time to be pressed back to earth by his pressure on her neck. He stood gently caressing the mare until she began to rear again. Then the man became dominating until the crisis had again passed. He stood next to the terrified horse, pressed up against her side, his demeanor calm despite the obvious danger of the situation. He behaved as if he were alone with the mare.

Alice, alone with herself, stood only a few steps away, certain that he was completely unaware of her. She watched him with the abandoned fascination that is only experienced when the viewing is in secret. She observed that he was a smaller man than her father, but noted that every man she knew was smaller than her father. Standing near him, she observed that her own shoulder was just below his shoulder, which would make him around six feet tall. He was wearing a coat that disguised the exact size of his torso. The strength he was showing in handling Meg proved he was physically strong, even unusually strong, whatever his actual size. His coat left his legs exposed. Alice examined what she could see and appraised his body as slender but not thin. His hair was too short to be tied back and was sculpted by the wind and rain into a caricature of wildness. The hair in front draped down over his forehead and almost into his eyes. Alice watched as he used his hand to sweep it away from his face. When he groomed, he pushed his hair back behind his ears, only to have the wind immediately whip it back to half cover them again. Alice wondered, Is his hair black or just very dark brown?

He appeared as a dark silhouette in the dim light, then suddenly was shown in harsh glory with each lightning flash. With the next flash of lightning, she decided his hair was black.

Alice attached a mysterious foreignness to him. He had materialized from out of nowhere like a spirit. He appeared oblivious to the violence of the storm boiling around him. He dominated and calmed her horse in an impossible way. The danger of the situation seemed to be of no consideration to him. There was something elemental in his nature that appeared to separate him from the normal human world.

Alice wondered, What of God’s creations is he? He had risked his life for her safety, while behaving as if he did not actually care if she was harmed or not. He had completely ignored her as soon as she was safely dismounted. It was as if he had come to rescue her horse, not her. She had not needed his continued attentions, but wasn’t she worth even a moment’s attention? Shouldn’t he have looked toward her at least once?

He led the mare away without even a glance to ensure that Alice was following.

The storm was still strong, but the horse was no longer fighting against the man’s will; with only one hand on the bridle, he was able to control the mare. It was as if the mare trusted him more than she feared the storm. Alice simply followed along behind with a growing bewilderment.

He led them off the road onto a side trail that Alice had not previously known existed. The trail cut through the edge of Trinity Forest, grading upward on the mountain to a cave hidden from the road a mile away. Inside the cave was another horse—silent, solid, and completely black except for a small, white patch on the chest. The horse did not move his torso as they entered, only his head just enough to look at them. The horse’s glance passed quickly over Alice, showing his indifference to the human female, but his ears moved slightly and his nostrils flared perceptibly as he looked at Meg.

Alice heard the man’s voice clearly for the first time when he unexpectedly said, That horse won’t hurt you, but don’t cuddle him. Looking quickly toward him, Alice’s eyes flared. Responding to the expression on her face, he added, Neither will I. Then before she could say anything, the conversation was over, with Alice again left in the background as the man returned to tending to Meg.

Alice wondered, Will he turn to me again? Will he speak again? Until he spoke again, she felt prevented from speaking to him. She did not understand why she felt prevented from approaching this man; it was an experience she was unaccustomed to and it made her angry. She felt it as a blow to her pride that she was losing out on the attention of a man to a horse.

Alice considered it the right of any woman not to be ignored, and she thought herself silly for having qualms about forcing herself into his consciousness. She considered it unimportant whether he liked her or not, but she disliked being ignored. She considered asking him his name and thanking him for his service to her. And yet, only in her mind was this unprovoked speaking a real possibility. The reality was that she was afraid. There was something unapproachable about him, and she knew that making him notice her was not the same as getting him to approach her. She felt that even if she made him speak to her, his spirit would still remain distant.

She felt her diffidence was contemptible, but she was still helpless to the situation. When a bridge is missing across an abyss, one cannot cross the space by hurling pebbles toward the other side. In this case, the gap seemed so wide that she was afraid any stones she could throw would not even reach the other side. He was seemingly so oblivious of her that anything she might say would be like whispers blown apart by a wind. She must be content to stand behind, watching and waiting and small. She felt he was wrong to treat her this way. He was wrong to make her feel this way. She thought, Damn this man. But damning him did not change his behavior.

The man’s presence and the warm smell of the horses filled the cave. The entire world felt shrunken, as if it were only she, the man, and the horses that kept the walls of the cave apart. He was only a few feet away and yet he seemed as oblivious of her as she was strongly aware of him. He could ignore her, but Alice found it impossible to ignore him. She felt his presence covering her despite the distance between them. With her sudden consciousness of how strongly she was aware of him, Alice blushed and was simultaneously glad that this man was not observing her.

As if an eleventh commandment was remembered, something quiescent inside her said, When the man is hard, be careful not to break him. Alice felt a feeling she could not identify stir inside her as she realized that here was a man that was not yet broken.

Alice felt herself invisible—no, not invisible, just seemingly too small to be of notice to him. She shivered from her rain-soaked clothes and he immediately noticed, removed his own coat, and placed it around her shoulders. From his saddlebags, he pulled out a thermos of warm tea and a tuna sandwich and gave these to Alice for her comfort. Alice felt both protected and abandoned at the same time, both precious and worthless. The time spent in the cave sheltering from the storm only further blurred the outlines of this man to Alice.

After an hour, the weather quieted. The sky outside the cave was still shadowed by dark clouds and the air heavy with moisture, but the rain had stopped. With travel again safe, he led the mare out of the cave and back to the road crossing the mountain. Alice followed silently, wearing his coat. Without turning toward her, he held the bridle as Alice mounted Meg.

Alice seized the opportunity and said, How can I thank you, Mr....?

He turned to face her and responded, Lone. And you don’t need to thank me. The tone of his voice was pleasantly deep, but its tenor did not invite continuing the conversation. The abruptness of his cutting off discussion of reward made it clear that he truly did not require her thanks.

Alice smiled. He didn’t. For the briefest of moments, as he handed Alice the bridle, she brushed his hand with hers. She saw a flicker of confusion cross his face before he recovered his composure.

She examined his face. His hair was unruly and as it dried in the cave, a natural waviness had asserted itself to give the ends a slight upward flip. Observing his hair more closely, she saw that it was not just black; it was black with shadings of gray. His face had few wrinkles, but more than someone would have at Alice’s age. At first glance, she had thought him just slightly older than her, but now she judged he was at least in his forties, an age that was approaching old to Alice at twenty-seven.

His face was sturdy, masculine, and tanned—a nose with the sharp lines of a gradually broadening triangle, blue eyes under a shadowing brow, a trimmed moustache over a large, full mouth, a rounded chin. The gray in the stubble of his beard confirmed for Alice that he was older than she had first thought. It was the face of a man who had experienced living, yet retained a certain boyishness. If a woman liked that kind of face, he would be considered handsome. Alice refused to acknowledge finding him attractive herself, but she felt that some women would find his face pleasant if his personal manners had allowed the women to create any feeling of connection with him.

When he turned and walked away, Alice traveled her eyes down his body, observing the roundness of his buttocks and the strength in his legs. She observed the lightness in his step and suppleness in his movements and thought of the gracefulness of a cat. Yes, Alice thought, given a chance, a woman would find him attractive. It’s a pity he’s been mismanaged into being how he is.

She wondered if he was modest or conceited. It was an excess of one or the other. It was as if he felt insignificance toward everything, as if she and her horse were merely things that he saw a long way off—not where he was, even when they were right before him. And he had no intention of leaving his own land to visit them. They could cause him to interact with them, but he gave no importance to it. If he had saved her life and risked his own, it was only because he could not do otherwise. It was not because he cared. She had been in danger and he had been there, so he had reacted. But if he had not been there, it would not have concerned him. She felt he had no emotions in his actions.

Alice puzzled over what it meant that he had reacted without seeming to care.

And she considered whether he had really acted without caring. Out in the storm, he had handled Meg firmly but gently. In the cave, he had removed Meg’s saddle and then tenderly dried the horse. From somewhere in the cave, he had found horse feed. He had fed Meg by hand, nearly the whole time carrying on a whispered conversation with Alice’s horse. To Alice he had given his coat and food. Were these the actions of a man without feelings toward others? Had she confused an outward coldness with being uncaring? Alice could not decide what to make of Lone. For every pointing to his character in one direction, there seemed to be a pointing also in the opposite direction.

They were parted. She felt certain that she would already be closed out of his mind. She had felt that she was no longer a thought to him from the moment he had let go of Meg’s bridle and stepped away. And from the moment that she had turned Meg and began the ride home, she had not looked back, doing as she was certain he would be doing. She had judged that it would be in his character not to look back, and so she had not. She had simply begun riding, going back down the road toward Edwards Valley and home. As Alice moved toward the very last rays of sun in the sky, she imagined Lone moving into the black night where he could not be seen, where he would be apart from her world.

Meg trotted easily down the valley, the remnants from the storm oddly not seeming to bother her. She had been a nervous horse for as long as Alice had known her. Perhaps Meg had simply had enough excitement for one day. She seemed unconcerned and for once unexcited. Meg went unhurried, seemingly guiding herself homeward without the assistance of Alice. This was odd because Meg had always been a horse that one commanded rather than rode. Normally Meg had to be mastered into doing one’s will. It was as if not only the weather had exhausted itself while she was in the cave, but that a storm inside of the mare had subsided as well. There was calmness to Meg now that allowed Alice to ride without needing to impose her will; she had never experienced this before when riding Meg.

Alice exited the mountainous section of the road and entered the flatness of Edwards Valley. Daylight was leaving, with the only reminder of the sun a faltering scarlet in the sky. Alice gently touched her horse’s neck, imitating Lone. Observing Meg’s reaction, Alice thought, I can’t fool her. Alice nestled dreamily, pulling Lone’s coat more tightly around her. With Meg gently rocking between her thighs, Alice closed her eyes and dissolved her consciousness into the sensuousness of the saddle pressing against her body. Opening her eyes again, Alice thought resignedly, Neither of us is fooled. Alice slowly drew her hand gently down the length of Meg’s neck in solidarity with the other female.

Back up the road, Lone had stood like a statue as Alice rode away. After releasing the bridle, he had walked only a few feet away before turning again to watch the woman and horse receding away from him—a single, slightly moving dash fading into the final gathering of light before the darkness.

Luck or fate, she was fortunate, Lone had thought as he watched her ride away.

They were safe and need concern him no more, and so they did not. At an unromantic age nearing fifty, having retreated to the mountains to escape from people, women and their horses were of no concern. Yet, it was only when they had completely faded from his sight that he turned again and left for home.

Obviously both badly mismanaged, he had added to his thoughts when he was nearly home. But aren’t we all? he concluded after a moment more. By this time, he was home and tending to Equus, his stallion, and all thoughts of females, human or horse, were at an end. All his thoughts rested on himself and Equus’s care.

CHAPTER 2

Return Home

The road home traveled straight down the valley, past farmland and homestead, with the farmlands standing out as dark oceans of shadow in the fading light. Lights from houses showed off in the distance, the buildings themselves silhouettes against the crimson sky. Sounds filtered into the air—indistinct bits of conversation, the sounds of families having dinner, farm animals settling down for the night, birds singing a last farewell to the departing light, and the wind rustling through the fields and orchards.

Alice knew she should be rushing home, but she had no heart to rush. It seemed as if she had spent the last ten years rushing. For the last ten years, her life had been fixated on speeding from one experience to another. She had felt propelled to try the new latest thing —and then the newer latest thing. She had zoomed from one thing to another, hardly savoring one experience before jetting to experience something else. But now she wanted her life to go slowly. She did not want to turn the experience with Lone into a distant memory until she absolutely had to.

Alice looked down at Meg. Her horse was in no hurry, Meg too seemed satisfied to savor the immediate moment, going by slow connected dots rather than swift dashes into the future.

As she passed the first farm on this end of the valley, she heard her name called.

Mr. Walters, the owner of the farm and a distant neighbor, was riding out from the lane connecting his farm to the main road.

Alice! Your daddy called for a search party. You okay? he shouted as he rode over to her.

I’m fine. I just got caught in the rain and waited it out, Alice calmly responded when he reached her.

After observing Alice a moment as if he was checking her safety for himself, he strongly suggested, Well, you better hurry home.

Mr. Walters, I’m sorry for all this trouble, she apologized halfheartedly.

That’s all right, Alice. We look after our own. I’ll call your Daddy and let him know you’re safe.

Twice more as she ambled her way home, Alice met neighbors advising her to hurry. She felt embarrassed to be the cause of so much unnecessary trouble and a little angry with her father for involving the community so quickly. It also reminded her that Edwards Valley would always be home in a way that a big city like Gotham could never be. In Gotham, home was really just the few rooms she rented. In Edwards Valley, the center of home was her family’s farm, but the community of separate farms was so interconnected that tendrils of home spread under the surface throughout the valley. Each farm and family appeared above the surface as separate and independent from the neighbors, but under the surface, what affected one vibrated through all.

When Alice arrived home, she paused in the shadows outside the reach of the house lights. There was the house she was born in, a structure built by her great-grandfather from trees growing on the slopes of the valley—a five bedroom house with only three bedrooms currently needed, and the third only because Alice was home. The world had changed since the house was built.

A dog lying quietly on the house porch raised his head and began to wag his tail. Spark had seen Alice in the shadows and started barking and running toward her.

Bill Edwards, Alice’s father, came out of the house and began walking toward her. She compared Lone and her father. Her father was six-foot-six with the broad, square shoulders of a giant. Lone, like most men, was physically puny compared to the bulk of her father, but pound for pound, Alice was not sure which man was stronger. From the way Lone had handled Meg during the storm, Alice judged Lone as a man of hidden strength that was easily underestimated.

Her father bellowed, Alice! Why are you just standing there? Is something wrong?

Alice felt sorry that she had worried her father and realized from his voice that he was annoyed with her now that he knew she was safe. But to her, he was all bark, no bite; she knew the annoyance would pass without consequences. As she dismounted from Meg, she calmly answered, No, Pa, I’m fine.

Where have you been?

I was caught in the storm and waited it out.

That’s a man’s coat. Whose is it? he asked suspiciously while closely observing Alice’s face.

Mr. Lone helped me.

His body stiffening, he spit back, Lone. It would be like him to be involved.

Observing her father’s face, Alice was unsure how to interpret his reaction at the mention of Lone. He seemed both relieved and bothered to find