A Promise to Cherish by Lavyrle Spencer Page B

where they wanted to do test borings.
    Lee was conscious of the smell of mosquito spray and wet earth, and of Sam Brown’s inviting masculine scent, as they squatted with their shoulders almost touching. They moved on again, following the route the pipe would take, crossing a thick stand of prairie thistle in full purple bloom, until they came to a marsh where red-winged blackbirds perched atop bobbing cattails. The birds’ voices raised a cacophony while Sam and Lee stood unmoving for several minutes—just listening and enjoying. It was peaceful and private. Lee became aware that Sam’s eyes were seeking her out as he stood behind her, his thumbs hooked on his hipbones. It took great effort to keep from looking back, but she resolutely refrained. Assuming a businesslike air, she noted, “Lots of birds out here.”
    Sam gave a cursory glance at the swamp and grunted in agreement, but immediately his eyes swung back to her.
    “The Department of Natural Resources will require a permit before we mess around with their nesting area. I’ll make a note of it.” But when she jotted down the note, she braved a glance at him and caught him studying her in a disturbing way. Immediately she looked at the set of plans, but his next question made her forget the figures before her eyes.
    “How long have you been divorced?”
    The air was utterly still, everything washed clean by the night rains which still lingered on leaf and stem, turning into diamond beads when the sun occasionally broke through the patchy clouds overhead. Lee met Sam’s eyes, realizing that if she answered it would be harder than ever to get back to business.
    “Three years,” she replied.
    He seemed to consider before finally asking, “Does he live here?”
    “No.”
    “In St. Louis?”
    Though posed in a casual tone, his question brought her to her senses. “We’re supposed to be looking for a corner lathe with a red flag on it,” she reminded him.
    “Oh.” He shrugged, as if her deliberate evasion were of little importance. “Oh yeah . . . well, forget I asked.”
    She tried to do just that, but for the remainder of their walk the unanswered question hung between them.

Chapter SIX
    B Y the time they finished their survey the sun was high and hot. They had made nearly a complete circle, which brought them at last to the foot of a hill below what had once been a thriving orchard and busy farmhouse. Lee could see the peak of the roof above the apple trees, and a large, rustic barn loomed up at her right. As they walked beneath the laden trees toward the crest of the hill, the shade felt soothing after the heat of the sun. The orchard had a scent of its own, a fecund mixture of loam and ripening fruit. Lee felt the lingering loneliness of old places whose thriving days have passed.
    The house came into view. Like the barn, it had a fieldstone foundation. To Lee it seemed at once beautiful and sad, for the dreams that might have nurtured the building of this place were long dead with their dreamers. The voices of its past were long gone. Its windows, vacant now, had once reflected a yard filled with seasonal activity—cattle coming home at the end of deep afternoon, children at play . . .
    At the thought, a sharp pain of regret knifed through Lee, and she clutched her stomach.
    “Is something wrong?”
    “No . . . no!” She turned back to Sam with assumed brightness and made a pretense of rubbing her stomach. “I . . . I’m just hungry, that’s all.”
    He glanced in the direction of the truck. “I can probably make it up that old driveway yet. Why don’t you wait here while I get the truck?”
    He strode off, and she watched until he disappeared, swallowed up by the trees. The abandoned house drew her irresistibly, and her feet moved almost against her will. She wandered around the foundation, peeking in windows at old linoleum, remnants of wallpaper, a sagging pantry door, a rusted iron pump, a hole in the wall where a chimney had once