Endurance - Jack Kilborn [30]
The two women remained locked like that for several seconds, neither of them betraying anything in their faces.
“And you are?” Eleanor asked, her voice steady as her grip increased.
“Florence. I’m not named after anybody. I find it refreshing to be my own person.”
Eleanor tilted her head to the side. “You look to be about my age, Florence. Are you certain you’re fit enough to compete in Iron Woman? It would be a shame if you keeled over from a heart attack. Do you remember when President Dwight D. Eisenhower had a heart attack in 1955?”
“I never liked Ike.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, and she released Florence’s hand, wiping it on her bulging stomach. “Yes. Well then. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you.” She turned. “And you must be Letti. I spoke with you on the phone. I’m Eleanor Roosevelt. My grandfather was second cousin to Theodore Roosevelt, the twenty-sixth president of the United States.”
“I caught that earlier. Nice to meet you, Eleanor.”
Florence watched as Eleanor tried to mash Letti’s hand, and was pleased when Eleanor let out a yelp at her daughter’s strength.
That-a-girl, Letti.
Eleanor couldn’t pull her hand away quickly enough.
“We seem to have run over something in your driveway and gotten a flat tire,” Letti said, her face betraying nothing.
Eleanor clucked her tongue. “Yes. It happens a lot out here. We try to keep the driveway clear, but there are sharp rocks everywhere.”
Letti folded her arms—her victory pose. “We lost our spare on the trip up. Do you have the number of a garage around here? Someone who sells tires?”
“Absolutely. But no one will come out here this late. It will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“We have to check in at the race tomorrow morning,” Letti said.
“Not a problem. I can have one of my boys take you into town.”
“We have three bikes we need to take with.”
“We have a truck. It will be fine.”
Florence thought she saw something—a shadow—over Eleanor’s shoulder. It disappeared behind the inn.
“Do you have many animals in these parts?” Florence asked.
Eleanor lowered her voice an octave. “All sorts of nasty things run around in these woods. Bear. Wild boar. Even mountain lions. All the more reason for us to go inside. Come on, now. Y’all must be exhausted after your long trip. From Illinois, isn’t it? The Land of Lincoln? Just follow me.”
Eleanor walked off, taking big strides. Florence shot her daughter a look and saw Letti grin. Her daughter was amused by Eleanor. Florence wasn’t amused so much as disturbed. Something wasn’t right about that woman. Something that went beyond mere eccentricity.
They unpacked the trunk, Eleanor not making good on her promise to help them. Florence shouldered hers and Kelly’s backpacks, then stared into the woods. While the foliage and scent were different, the atmosphere eerily mirrored the jungles of Vietnam. The quiet. The stillness. The darkness that seemed to seep into your very pores. After a lifetime of traveling and missionary work, Florence still wasn’t comfortable in the wilderness. She’d borne witness to countless cases of man’s inhumanity to his fellow man. But that was a known danger. The woods whispered of the unknown. Of unseen things that wanted to eat you.
Letti and Florence hefted their gear over to the inn, Kelly in tow with JD. Eleanor stood on the porch with her creepy smile, holding the door open. The building itself was three stories, made of logs. Wooden shutters covered the windows. The roof was hard to see, as not a single exterior lamp was on.
“Welcome to the Rushmore Inn,” Eleanor said again. The woman apparently liked to repeat herself.
Upon stepping