True believer - Nicholas Sparks [52]
They followed the same roads back. Passing Cedar Creek Cemetery, Jeremy found his eyes drawn to the top of Riker’s Hill; despite the distance, he could pick out the spot where they’d parked.
“Do we have time to see a couple of other places? I’d love to swing by the marina, the paper mill, and maybe the railroad trestle.”
“We have time,” she said. “As long as we don’t stay too long. They’re pretty much all in the same area.”
Ten minutes later, following her directions, he parked again. They were at the far edge of downtown, a few blocks from Herbs, near the boardwalk that stretched along the riverfront. The Pamlico River was nearly a mile wide and flowed angrily, the currents rippling to form tiny whitecaps as they rushed downstream. On the far side of the river, near the railroad trestle, the paper mill—a huge structure—spewed clouds from the dueling smokestacks. Jeremy stretched as he stepped out of the car, and Lexie crossed her arms. Her cheeks began to redden in the chill.
“Is it getting colder, or is it just my imagination?” she asked.
“It’s pretty cold,” he agreed. “Seems colder than it was up top, but maybe we just got used to the heater in the car.”
Jeremy struggled to catch up to her as she set off for the boardwalk. Lexie finally slowed and then stopped to lean against the railing as Jeremy gazed up at the railroad trestle. Perched high above the river to let large boats pass, it was crisscrossed with beams, resembling a suspension bridge.
“I didn’t know how close you wanted to get,” she said. “If we had more time, I would have taken you across the river to the mill, but you probably get a better view from here.” She motioned toward the other end of town. “The marina is over there, near the highway. Can you see where all those sailboats are docked?”
Jeremy nodded. For some reason, he’d expected something grander.
“Can big boats dock there?”
“I think so. Some big yachts from New Bern sometimes stop over for a couple of days.”
“How about barges?”
“I suppose they could. The river is dredged to allow for some of the logging barges, but they usually stop on the far side. Over there”—she pointed to what seemed to be a small cove—“you can see a couple there now, all loaded up.”
He followed her gaze, then turned around, coordinating locations. With Riker’s Hill in the distance, the trestle and the factory seemed perfectly aligned. Coincidence? Or completely unimportant? He stared in the direction of the paper mill, trying to figure out whether the tops of the smokestacks were lit at night. He’d have to check on that.
“Do they ship all the logs by barge, or do you know if they use the railroad, too?”
“I’ve never noticed, to tell you the truth. I’m sure it would be easy to find out, though.”
“Do you know how many trains use the trestle?”
“Again, I’m not sure. Sometimes I hear the whistle at night, and I’ve had to stop more than once in town at the crossing to let the train pass, but it’s not as if I could tell you for certain. I do know they make a lot of shipments from the mill, though. That’s where the train actually stops.”
Jeremy nodded as he stared at the trestle.
Lexie smiled and went on. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that maybe the light from the train shines as it goes over the trestle and that’s what’s causing the lights, right?”
“It did cross my mind.”
“That’s not it,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’re sure?”
“At night, the trains pull into the yard at the paper mill so they can be loaded the following day. So the light on the locomotive is shining in the opposite direction, away from Riker’s Hill.”
He considered that as he joined her at the railing. The wind whipped her hair, making it look wild. She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets.
“I can see why you liked growing up here,” he commented.
She turned so that she could lean back against the railing, and stared toward the downtown area—the neat