2. Orange
I sit at the table and stare into the fire, my hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea. Maybe I should have looked for a wife before I traveled West because there aren't many single women in Oregon Territory. Here I am, the owner of a one-room log cabin sitting on 320 acres of land that rivals the Garden of Eden, and I'm lonely as hell.
It would be so nice to watch the sunset with someone by my side, preferably someone of the female persuasion. My brother Rye says I should visit Oregon City where there are a few single ladies living with their families.
But even if I borrowed Rye's horse to travel there, I can't imagine any of them would consent to join me, Peeta Mellark, out here in the middle of nowhere. Those town women have their pick of suitors lining up to seek their favor.
Shaking my teacup slightly, I watch the leaves swirl up from the bottom, wishing I knew how to read the meaning from them to predict my future. Because right at this moment, things are bleak.
I don't think I'll ever find someone to wear the red combs that my grandmother left me to give to my bride on her wedding day. I've always pictured my wife as a dark-haired beauty because of those combs – the mother-of-pearl inlaid along the scalloped edge would stand out against a dark mane.
I sigh, and take a swallow of tea.
A loud boom overhead startles me and I grip the cup tighter. Thunder. The summer storms are infrequent but they can be fierce. The pounding of hail hits the bark roof. I go to the door and open it, watching chunks of ice cover the ground.
The biscuit-sized hail lasts for at least ten minutes. I am ready to shut the door when it ends, but I notice a faint greenish light low on the horizon forming an arch that lazily stretches across the sky. As time passes, additional bands of light form and drift overhead, slowly brightening to form giant curtains in the sky. The curtains that are made of light slowly wave as if a gentle breeze were blowing. Suddenly the bottom of the curtains brightens with an orange tint. They ripple faster. Blues, reds, and purples appear. The entire sky seems to be full of color and motion. The sight mesmerizes me. Gradually, though, it all fades away.
I've never seen anything like this before. I wish I had someone to share it with. Instead I shut the door and go to bed.
The air is fresh the next morning, but the ground is muddy. I take a walk around the property to check the damage caused by the storm. The roof took a hit and some of the bark shingles will need to be replaced before the fall rains start. The garden is even worse. I take a bucket from the house and save what vegetables I can. When I see the green shoots of the pumpkins that are bent and broken, I am heartsick. I was planning to make pies with those pumpkins.
I run my fingers through my hair about ready to scream, wondering yet again why I agreed to travel to Oregon with my brother and his family. I'm a baker, not a farmer.
While I'm staring at the garden trying to figure out what to do next, I hear a woman's voice.
"Damn it all Gale where are you?" she hollers.
Astonished, I turn my head to determine where she could be. The nearest woman in the area is my sister-in-law Delly and she's ten miles away.
The voice seems to be coming from a nearby wooded section of my land. I put the bucket down and set off in that direction wondering what a woman would be doing there. Especially one who is cursing.
Maybe I dreamed her to life with my despairing thoughts. My own personal Lilith.
I see her as she exits the thicket of trees. A small woman in a red dress with her dark hair pinned up. A bonnet hangs off her neck by its ties. She's got a bow slung over her shoulder and a bag with arrows on her back.
"Hello," she calls to me.
I walk closer. But when we're a few yards apart, her expression changes. She looks like she's seen a ghost. She puts her hand to her mouth as if in shock.
"Are you all right?"
I take a step closer and she takes a few steps backwards, almost tripping over her skirt. She stares warily at me for at least a minute, before she speaks.
"Have you seen a tall man wearing a blue checked shirt and dark pants just like yours?" she asks. I hear a slight tremor in her voice.
"No ma'am, I haven't. Have you lost your husband?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not married," she mutters. "Gale's my cousin."
I nod at her words, secretly pleased at her lack of a husband.
A puzzled look comes over her face. "Where's your gun? I thought everyone out here was hunting."
For a moment I don't listen to what she is saying because I'm falling under the spell of her silvery eyes. I haven's seen such a pretty woman since I crossed the Platte River and left the civilized world behind.
But I suddenly realize that she is describing a hunting party. People hunting on my land. I mentally curse myself for leaving my gun behind in the cabin. I've heard stories of people being run off their land grant, robbed, even murdered.
I study her carefully wondering whether she is handy with that bow. I could wrestle her to the ground but what good would it do when her cousin could come along and shoot me.
Meanwhile she stares at me, likely waiting for an answer.
"I'm not hunting," I reply. "I was checking out the damage that storm did last night to my property."
"Was there a storm last night? I must have slept through it."
She must be a heavy sleeper to have not heard that tumult.
"I didn't know people lived out here," she continues. "I thought this area was owned by the federal government."
"It was until last year when they granted it to me."
Her eyes sweep the panorama. "How much of it is yours?"
"Three-hundred and twenty acres."
She whistles loudly in an unladylike fashion.
"So do you live here then?"
"Yes, I do."
I am beginning to get nervous wondering where her companion could be. Is he robbing my cabin while I make small talk? Will he come up behind me and shoot me in the back?
"I could help you find your cousin," I suggest, hoping her answer would help me figure out whether or not she's speaking the truth.
She nods. "That would be fine, I guess. I'm Katniss," she introduces herself, giving me a small smile.
"I'm Peeta."
Her face goes white and she looks like she might faint.
"Are you all right?"
"Just fine," she murmurs.
But I catch her looking at me strangely over the next hour as we walk in and around the small woods. We do not find him, and as our search spreads over a wider area she grows agitated.
"I'm not sure how to get back," she explains. "They brought us here to hunt and they were supposed to pick us up before dark."
"Who brought you here?"
"One of the reenactors."
"Actors?"
"Yes," she explains. "That's why I'm wearing this dress. I thought you were one of them because of your clothes. But I guess men's clothes don't change as much as women's."
It makes no sense to me that actors would be hunting on my land, but I am growing hungry. "Look why don't you come back to my cabin and I'll fix us something to eat."
She gives me a nervous look and I realize that even though we've spent the last several hours together Katniss doesn't trust me at all. Or maybe she's embarrassed about having to ask for help. I think of a way she could contribute.
"Could you get us some meat with that bow of yours?" I ask. "Maybe a squirrel."
"You eat squirrel?"
She acts as if she'd never considered it.
"They cook up nice in stew."
Katniss looks at me strangely, but she stands still and puts her hand up to indicate I shouldn't move either. We wait a few minutes and a squirrel jumps right down from a tree. She shoots it clean through the eye.
She picks it up and pulls the arrow out. "Here you go," she says, handing it to me.
We go back to my cabin and once again she acts as if she'd never seen anything like it before.
"You live off the grid?" she exclaims.
I shake my head puzzled at her comment.
She doesn't explain. "Did you build it yourself?"
I nod and describe the work involved, chopping down tall, straight trees and notching them together one by one. Peeling the bark off green wood to make shingles for the roof. With Rye's help it took me close to six weeks to complete, but I'm proud of my home.
As the sun goes down, bathing the world in an orange glow, we sit on the threshold of the front door eating squirrel stew. I give Katniss my only spoon to use and I scoop up my stew with a biscuit. Only last night I sat wishing for a woman by my side. What a difference a day can make.