“Hiking is about the journey,” he said. “The trees you see along the way, the nature, the views, the fresh air.”
“Did you know there’s a tuberculosis-curing hospital near here in Saranac Village?” I asked. “Where people come for weeks at a time specifically for the fresh air.”
“I didn’t.”
“It’s true. Anne told me about it, they get cured purely from fresh air. There are cure chairs and cure porches, and apparently there’s awhole industry up here dedicated to curing people. It sounds like my cup of tea—lounging and breathing air.” I laughed.
We walked through the tall evergreens and I took a long, deep breath.
“Is it really over, Archie?” I asked. I had very little experience with relationships thus far, but what I had experienced had all been based on lies and distrust. I simply couldn’t allow myself to fall for him again if I wasn’t sure I could trust him.
“I promise you, Olive, it’s completely over,” he said, and I nodded, believing the sincerity in his eyes.
We walked on and something hung in the air between us. He seemed thoughtful and serious all of a sudden, and I wondered if I’d missed something.
“There is one other thing I feel I should tell you,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” I said. “It can’t be any worse than what you already shared.” I laughed, but he remained stoic.
We walked along in silence for a few moments; the trail was taking us uphill and our deep breathing was suddenly audible.
“I was married once,” he said finally. We had reached the top of the pathway, and trees opened up to reveal a view of the pond, where reeds were swaying gently at the water’s edge, making a lulling, hushing sound.
“Oh.”
“My wife, Clara, fell ill when she was pregnant, less than a year into our marriage. She went into an early labor, and I lost them.”
“Oh, Archie,” I whispered, shocked by this terrible revelation.
I was suddenly jolted back, in a flash—the fear, the smelling salts, the nuns. I had to wrench myself from its hold to something, anything comforting to say. It was just so awful.
“They actually…” I didn’t know how to ask.
“Yes, both of them, gone. It’s difficult to speak of. It was a horrible time in my life,” he said. “Nine years ago. She would have made a wonderful mother.”
He kept looking out at the pond, as if talking to me about it directly would be too much for him.
“I’ve come to terms with the fact that I may never be a father, and I’d be okay with that, I suppose, but then there are the times that I can picture it so vividly, how it would be, where we would go, what we would do.” He shrugged and seemed to come out of his daze a little. “I don’t know.”
I’d heard of it, of course, dying in childbirth, but I hadn’t known anyone who’d actually experienced this loss, and the death of both his wife and child was so devastating. I pictured Archie, young and excitable, a new bride, a child on the way, a whole life ahead of him, and then suddenly it was all gone, he was left alone. What he had shared was so deeply personal, and I was surprised and yet grateful to him for entrusting me with his past. I reached out and touched his shoulder, and then I put an arm around him and squeezed.
“I don’t talk about it too often,” he said, turning to me, his soft, caring eyes, a sweet, generous smile. “It’s just too sad,” he added.
“I’m sorry, I j-just…” I stammered for words, confused at my swell of emotion. “I just feel for you so very much.”
“Thank you. I wanted you to know I’d been married before. No more secrets,” he said.
“No more secrets,” I said, feeling a pang of regret. He’d been so honest with me, sharing a piece of his past that I wouldn’t have known about if he hadn’t brought it up. I should do the same, tellhim my secret, but I couldn’t, of course I couldn’t. His was a tragedy that happened to him, something out of his control. Mine, well, that was my own damn fault.
“You’re easy to talk to, Olive,” he said, and I smiled. He was right, there was an ease between us. If only I could be truthful. “Come on…” Archie began walking again. “It’s this way.”
He walked slightly ahead through a narrow pathway with trees on either side, the sunlight blocked out by the canopy of leaves, except for a few small openings where the sun streamed down in beams. I followed closely behind, and then he reached his hand back, without looking, and grabbed mine, knowing exactly where I was. I looked down at my hand in his. It was such a simple gesture, but a rush of warmth came over me. We walked like that for a while, until the path broke into a fork.
“Left or right?” he asked.
“Which way did the guide say?”
“I don’t know—he drew me a map, but I left it in the cabin, figured we’d find our own way.”
