area, had been abandoned years ago, and stood empty since then. The town of Stone Creek had held title to it, offering it for sale to anyone who would pay the back taxes.
And Rowdy had bought it. That answered a question she’d hadn’t thought to ask. She’d been too flustered to ask what he was doing there, pulling up floorboards and driving nails.
Lark stiffened. She couldn’t assume he’d known he was destroying a dream—he hadn’t been in town long enough to be privy to things she was still garnering after three months’ residence—but he was the source of Mai Lee’s despair, nevertheless.
“Oh, Mai Lee,” she said, “I’m so sorry.” Sympathy seemed a poor offering, in the face of the other woman’s sorrow.
Mai Lee nodded once, tersely, and went on peeling potatoes, rubbery from their long tenure in a wooden barrel in Mrs. Porter’s root cellar.
Knowing nothing else to do, and certainly nothing helpful to say, Lark went about brewing her tea. Presently, a noise at the door and a sweep of chilly air brought Mrs. Porter bustling in, carrying a shopping basket.
“I saw Mr. Rhodes on my way here,” she announced.
“He’s got a young man with him, too—came by here earlier, while you were at school. The boy had a horse when he came, but they’re both on foot now.”
Mai Lee promptly flung down her paring knife. The potato she’d been skinning landed in the kettle with a splashy plunk . She turned and scurried from the room, and the door to the little nook under the main stairs closed audibly.
“Merciful heavens,” Mrs. Porter marveled. “What’s gotten into Mai Lee?”
Before Lark could reply, the door swung open again, and Pardner pranced in, closely followed by Rowdy and a handsome lad of sixteen or seventeen years. The resemblance between man and boy was so strong that Lark blinked once, certain she was seeing things.
Rowdy was taller than the youth, more muscled, graceful where his companion was awkward. The newcomer had yet to grow into his strength, and his hair was a few shades darker than Rowdy’s, a butternut color, but Lark knew that in high summer, it would be fair as corn silk.
Despite these differences, they had the same blue eyes. The same expressive mouths, on the verge of a wicked grin, though the boy’s was set in a wary line at the moment.
The youth stood shyly just inside the door. At a nudge from Rowdy, he removed his ancient brown hat, held it with a diffidence that was not reflected in his taut jaw or watchful eyes.
Pardner lay down heavily, to one side of the cookstove.
Rowdy, meanwhile, made the introductions. “Mrs. Porter,” he said, “Miss Morgan, this is my brother Gideon.”
Gideon nodded politely, first to Mrs. Porter, then to Lark, though he didn’t smile. “Pleased,” he said, and blushed crimson.
Mrs. Porter, evidently over that morning’s chagrin at not being included in Maddie O’Ballivan’s invitation to Friday-night supper, fussed happily. “Come on in, Gideon,” she said. “Let me take your hat and coat. I’m sure Mai Lee—” She paused, realizing her cook was not present. “Where is Mai Lee?”
Lark pinned Rowdy with a brief but sharp glance. “Mai Lee,” she replied, “has retired to her quarters. She’s suffered a keen blow to her hopes.”
Rowdy frowned as he took off his coat and hat and hung them in their places.
In the interim, Mrs. Porter fairly tore the hat from Gideon’s hand. “I can’t imagine what would be troubling Mai Lee,” she chattered giddily. “The girl is the very soul of good cheer most of the time.”
Lark fixed her gaze on Rowdy. “It seems,” she said carefully, “that Mai Lee and her husband were hoping to purchase the property behind the jailhouse.”
Rowdy sighed, clearly registering the gravity of the situation.
Mrs. Porter, however, made to peel Gideon’s short wool coat off his shoulders, and he shrugged out of the garment with some haste, probably to avoid her fussing. “What
And Rowdy had bought it. That answered a question she’d hadn’t thought to ask. She’d been too flustered to ask what he was doing there, pulling up floorboards and driving nails.
Lark stiffened. She couldn’t assume he’d known he was destroying a dream—he hadn’t been in town long enough to be privy to things she was still garnering after three months’ residence—but he was the source of Mai Lee’s despair, nevertheless.
“Oh, Mai Lee,” she said, “I’m so sorry.” Sympathy seemed a poor offering, in the face of the other woman’s sorrow.
Mai Lee nodded once, tersely, and went on peeling potatoes, rubbery from their long tenure in a wooden barrel in Mrs. Porter’s root cellar.
Knowing nothing else to do, and certainly nothing helpful to say, Lark went about brewing her tea. Presently, a noise at the door and a sweep of chilly air brought Mrs. Porter bustling in, carrying a shopping basket.
“I saw Mr. Rhodes on my way here,” she announced.
“He’s got a young man with him, too—came by here earlier, while you were at school. The boy had a horse when he came, but they’re both on foot now.”
Mai Lee promptly flung down her paring knife. The potato she’d been skinning landed in the kettle with a splashy plunk . She turned and scurried from the room, and the door to the little nook under the main stairs closed audibly.
“Merciful heavens,” Mrs. Porter marveled. “What’s gotten into Mai Lee?”
Before Lark could reply, the door swung open again, and Pardner pranced in, closely followed by Rowdy and a handsome lad of sixteen or seventeen years. The resemblance between man and boy was so strong that Lark blinked once, certain she was seeing things.
Rowdy was taller than the youth, more muscled, graceful where his companion was awkward. The newcomer had yet to grow into his strength, and his hair was a few shades darker than Rowdy’s, a butternut color, but Lark knew that in high summer, it would be fair as corn silk.
Despite these differences, they had the same blue eyes. The same expressive mouths, on the verge of a wicked grin, though the boy’s was set in a wary line at the moment.
The youth stood shyly just inside the door. At a nudge from Rowdy, he removed his ancient brown hat, held it with a diffidence that was not reflected in his taut jaw or watchful eyes.
Pardner lay down heavily, to one side of the cookstove.
Rowdy, meanwhile, made the introductions. “Mrs. Porter,” he said, “Miss Morgan, this is my brother Gideon.”
Gideon nodded politely, first to Mrs. Porter, then to Lark, though he didn’t smile. “Pleased,” he said, and blushed crimson.
Mrs. Porter, evidently over that morning’s chagrin at not being included in Maddie O’Ballivan’s invitation to Friday-night supper, fussed happily. “Come on in, Gideon,” she said. “Let me take your hat and coat. I’m sure Mai Lee—” She paused, realizing her cook was not present. “Where is Mai Lee?”
Lark pinned Rowdy with a brief but sharp glance. “Mai Lee,” she replied, “has retired to her quarters. She’s suffered a keen blow to her hopes.”
Rowdy frowned as he took off his coat and hat and hung them in their places.
In the interim, Mrs. Porter fairly tore the hat from Gideon’s hand. “I can’t imagine what would be troubling Mai Lee,” she chattered giddily. “The girl is the very soul of good cheer most of the time.”
Lark fixed her gaze on Rowdy. “It seems,” she said carefully, “that Mai Lee and her husband were hoping to purchase the property behind the jailhouse.”
Rowdy sighed, clearly registering the gravity of the situation.
Mrs. Porter, however, made to peel Gideon’s short wool coat off his shoulders, and he shrugged out of the garment with some haste, probably to avoid her fussing. “What
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