Read Online Ashleigh's Dilemma by J. D. Reid - Free Book Online Page A

Patrick had merely shrugged and, unlike him, seemed reluctant to provide detail. “It was a long time ago,” he'd said only; “I was just a boy,” and he’d held his hand waist high above the gravel path they had been walking along.
    Eventually he told her. His family and many others had to run from their native Rhodesia , when the new government of Zimbabwe enforced the redistribution of the land. Most went to South Africa, many returned to England; some emigrated to the United States and Canada. His girlfriend's family had decided to stay and he hadn't heard from her since. From the news that came out of Rhodesia in those days, he was pretty sure she was dead. Her name was Kristin; he'd been seventeen, she sixteen. “What makes you think she's dead?” she'd asked but he wouldn't say.
    The thought of Patrick being in love with someone, other than herself, bothered her a bit. It was silly – more than silly; it was impossible and ridiculous - but she could clearly imagine his sixteen-year-old girl friend. Very few of her dreams are as vibrant as her imagination – funny how that is. Most of her dreams were in black and white, consisting of nothing more than a confusing jumble of silliness. But she could see Kristin clearly in her mind’s eye: she had blond hair pulled back against flashing green eyes, a small nose, a sensitive mouth, brilliantly white teeth, and, of course, perfect skin that would be deeply tanned since she was a country girl and would therefore be outside a lot. She imagined Patrick kissing her behind the corncrib – or if not a corncrib whatever dwelling was needed to support the type of agriculture they practiced. She could see her leaning back against the whitewashed boards as he leaned shyly into her, kissing her gently, shyly, and she returned his kisses, again and again, her pretty chin rising and falling as she carefully placed each returned kiss. He held himself off her with one arm held up, palm flat against the boards, setting the pace, kiss after gentle kiss.
    She knew she went too far with that, but it was yet another one of those things she could not control, particularly with her mind half in and half out of sleep. It was certainly ridiculous what passed through her mind. Impossible as she knew it was, in the early morning hours, and sometimes just as she was falling into sleep, it sometimes felt as if her mind, no longer held within the constraints of  her will, somehow gained access to the past: a window opens, the head turns, the eyes see… and all in color too.
    On a whim, she'd once asked him, “Did they grow corn?” and he'd answered, “Yes,” but, again, would not elaborate.
    A corncrib, then.
    Whoever the girl was, Ashleigh decided she could not possibly like her; still, she hoped she was alive somewhere and got out while the getting out was good. She was probably married and had her two point five children by now. Statistically, she was probably divorced and on her second marriage. Ashleigh wondered if she ever thought of Patrick and knew that she probably did. If she was alive, that is. But, then again, Patrick thought she was dead and so she probably was. Ashleigh fervently hoped that, however she died, she didn't suffer. She shuddered inwardly: ‘There but for the Grace of God go I, my friend,’ she thought wide awake just before dawn, covering her face with her hands and wondering if she was going mad.
     
    Ashleigh often thought about the first time she and Patrick met. It was quite a storm, she remembered, with high winds and cold rain. The great old pine took out the power lines making it blacker than black in her house. She remembered the fear of it. She wasn't often afraid but the violence of that particular storm had reached in through the walls of her home: that and the darkness. She had gone to bed with only her flashlight with its almost depleted batteries to show the way. She found it hard to find sleep, but sleep she did. Next morning she immediately