Throwaway by Heather Huffman Page A

thought
better of it. He shook his head and handed her his flashlight
before retrieving the fallen one.
    “Just stay close to me.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “You’ll see.”
    “Can we explore the gardens?”
    “Later. I think you’ll like this.”
    Jessie didn’t argue, allowing Gabe to lead
her out the cabin’s side door, her hand safely ensconced in
his.
    “Oh, I almost forgot the pencil,” he let go
of her hand to dart back inside.
    “I suppose you aren’t going to tell me what
that’s for, either,” she asked when he’d rejoined her.
    “You’ll see soon enough.”
    Just out of the cabin was a path leading down
a hill to what looked like the mouth of a cave. Sun filtered
through the treetops. The air was muggy—apparently this region of
Missouri hadn’t been granted the reprieve St. Louis had. Jessie had
her doubts about hiking, but anything was better than the
awkwardness of the cabin.
    A rickety iron gate swung loosely on its
hinges at the mouth of the cave. Now that she was so close, she was
certain it was a cave; presumably the namesake of this place. It
was easy to overlook if you didn’t know it was there.
    Though Jessie acknowledged the outdoorsy
thing was not her forte, it seemed reasonable to her that if there
was an iron gate barring entrance to a black hole in the center of
the earth, maybe it was best to heed the advice.
    Apparently this basic common sense was not as
obvious as Jessie thought, because Gabe blithely stepped beyond the
gate and threw the light switch on. The lever looked like something
you’d see in a mad scientist’s lab; only it was connected to clear
round light bulbs strung up like Christmas lights along the cave
ceiling.
    The moment Jessie stepped out of the sun and
into the realm of the cave she was instantly bathed in cool air. It
felt like standing in front of an open refrigerator door.
    Gabe took her hand in his again, leading her
across a wooden bridge to a narrow, gravel path. The light of the
forest quickly faded behind them, leaving them completely dependent
on the Christmas lights above and the flashlights Gabe had
provided. Jessie was immensely grateful for the warmth of his
hand.
    The walls were bumpy, damp and draped with
minerals. Gabe stopped to shine the light around the room and at
the ceiling so Jessie could see how it made the calcite deposits
glow bright white.
    They left the first room and moved into a new
area, this one with smooth walls. Just as Broadway Oyster Bar’s
benches had been covered with signatures and artwork, the walls of
the cave had captured a montage of human history. Jessie peered
more closely at the writing, taking the time to read over 150 years
of signatures.
    She wondered if it was even possible to read
them all—they were everywhere. After a few minutes, they started
walking again but this time more slowly as they read aloud to each
other the names and dates that caught their interest.
    “Is that spray paint?” Jessie pointed to a
particularly large signature that ran across the top of the
wall.
    “It’s residue from an old carbide lantern.
People used to hold it up the cave wall and write with it.”
    Jessie tried to soak it all in. She could
almost see the ghosts of all the lives that came through this
place.
    “Before the current owners took it over, this
cave was a pretty popular spot,” Gabe explained as they entered a
large room. He stopped and looked around as if this spot held a
memory or two for him as well.
    “It’s amazing.”
    “Teachers used to bring their classes here on
field trips. It’s been a date destination since the late 1800s.
Jesse James used it as a hideout. During Prohibition, the owners
brought a piano in here and turned this room into a local hot
spot.”
    “They brought a piano where?”
    “Here. This is the piano room… look, you can
see what’s left of the old piano up there.”
    “I think I can almost picture it,” she smiled
a little at that. Something fluttered close to her