had a plodding gait that suited Genevieve just fine. She was inexperienced at the reins and never failed to be nervous when driving the cart.
She went into town intending to find the Reverend Carstairs, hoping he'd forgiven the fact that she'd run from his church in October and never been back. Today, it seemed, half the town was gathered at the trading post.
It was to this post that farmers brought their wares to be sold downriver and came to trade for the supplies they needed. And, most important, it was where the settlers received news from other parts of the world.
Genevieve got out of the cart and hitched Victor to a rail. She smoothed her fading calico dress and hoped the hem would conceal her dusty boots. Roarke had insisted on giving all of Prudence's dresses to her, and she'd always felt a little guilty at how quickly they succumbed to the dirt of the fields.
As if the very thought of Roarke had summoned him, Genevieve heard his voice calling her name. She swung around, feeling an inner tremor at the sight of him. It always happened like that. Genevieve had decided long ago that she would probably spend the rest of her life trying to hide her feelings for Roarke Adair.
She smiled and brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek.
"Gennie," he said, "you look wonderful, like you've been touched by the wind and sun. Virginia is the best thing that could have happened to you."
Still smiling, she teased, "You're still trying to justify persuading my father to gamble me away, Roarke Adair."
He scowled. "I'll never live that down, will I?"
"Never mind. I'm looking for Mr. Carstairs. Have you seen him?"
The scowl disappeared. "Don't tell me you've finally decided to join the flock?"
She shook her head. "I've survived this long without going to church. But I want to borrow some books from Mr. Carstairs. I'm going to teach Calvin Greenleaf to read."
His blue eyes grew warm with appreciation. "Well, that's fine, Gennie. That's just fine. You'll be doing the lad a great favor."
"I hope so. His parents aren't too sure. They insist that reading will put all sorts of crazy notions into Cal's head and ruin him as a farmer."
"Maybe so," Roarke mused. "Maybe it'll turn him into something more." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You're a good woman, Gennie, to do this for the lad."
She flushed and looked away. " 'Tis a small enough favor. I only hope I can do it."
"You will, Gennie," Roarke assured her. "Mr. Carstairs is down at the docks. Luther Quaid just came in."
Together they approached a little knot of people clustered around the rickety wharf. Genevieve nodded to Amy and Seth Parker, asking after Amy's health and being informed that the baby would be born in just a few weeks.
As Luther unloaded his usual supplies, he traded gossip with the locals. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produced a well-worn copy of the Virginia
Gazette
. He held it high with a strange, somber look on his face.
Genevieve pressed forward to see. She squinted; all the reading she'd been doing on farming was weakening her eyes. But the words on the page leaped out at her.
"… the Troops of his Brittanick Majesty commenced hostilities upon the people of Massachusetts province… we are involved in all the Horrors of a civil War… The sword is now drawn. God knows when it will be sheathed."
Mr. Carstairs read the passage aloud. The group around him fell silent as they listened to an account of battles and bloodshed that had occurred in remote New England a full month before. British soldiers, marching to the towns of Lexington and Concord, had been engaged by a small militia.
"Civil war…" Genevieve glanced over at Roarke; her breath caught at the look on his face. For some time there had been talk of unrest in the colonies, bitter complaints about Lord Townshend's unfair revenue schemes and the highhandedness of the British ministry. But no one in Dancer's Meadow had realized the situation was so volatile.
"There's more," Luther Quaid
She went into town intending to find the Reverend Carstairs, hoping he'd forgiven the fact that she'd run from his church in October and never been back. Today, it seemed, half the town was gathered at the trading post.
It was to this post that farmers brought their wares to be sold downriver and came to trade for the supplies they needed. And, most important, it was where the settlers received news from other parts of the world.
Genevieve got out of the cart and hitched Victor to a rail. She smoothed her fading calico dress and hoped the hem would conceal her dusty boots. Roarke had insisted on giving all of Prudence's dresses to her, and she'd always felt a little guilty at how quickly they succumbed to the dirt of the fields.
As if the very thought of Roarke had summoned him, Genevieve heard his voice calling her name. She swung around, feeling an inner tremor at the sight of him. It always happened like that. Genevieve had decided long ago that she would probably spend the rest of her life trying to hide her feelings for Roarke Adair.
She smiled and brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek.
"Gennie," he said, "you look wonderful, like you've been touched by the wind and sun. Virginia is the best thing that could have happened to you."
Still smiling, she teased, "You're still trying to justify persuading my father to gamble me away, Roarke Adair."
He scowled. "I'll never live that down, will I?"
"Never mind. I'm looking for Mr. Carstairs. Have you seen him?"
The scowl disappeared. "Don't tell me you've finally decided to join the flock?"
She shook her head. "I've survived this long without going to church. But I want to borrow some books from Mr. Carstairs. I'm going to teach Calvin Greenleaf to read."
His blue eyes grew warm with appreciation. "Well, that's fine, Gennie. That's just fine. You'll be doing the lad a great favor."
"I hope so. His parents aren't too sure. They insist that reading will put all sorts of crazy notions into Cal's head and ruin him as a farmer."
"Maybe so," Roarke mused. "Maybe it'll turn him into something more." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You're a good woman, Gennie, to do this for the lad."
She flushed and looked away. " 'Tis a small enough favor. I only hope I can do it."
"You will, Gennie," Roarke assured her. "Mr. Carstairs is down at the docks. Luther Quaid just came in."
Together they approached a little knot of people clustered around the rickety wharf. Genevieve nodded to Amy and Seth Parker, asking after Amy's health and being informed that the baby would be born in just a few weeks.
As Luther unloaded his usual supplies, he traded gossip with the locals. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produced a well-worn copy of the Virginia
Gazette
. He held it high with a strange, somber look on his face.
Genevieve pressed forward to see. She squinted; all the reading she'd been doing on farming was weakening her eyes. But the words on the page leaped out at her.
"… the Troops of his Brittanick Majesty commenced hostilities upon the people of Massachusetts province… we are involved in all the Horrors of a civil War… The sword is now drawn. God knows when it will be sheathed."
Mr. Carstairs read the passage aloud. The group around him fell silent as they listened to an account of battles and bloodshed that had occurred in remote New England a full month before. British soldiers, marching to the towns of Lexington and Concord, had been engaged by a small militia.
"Civil war…" Genevieve glanced over at Roarke; her breath caught at the look on his face. For some time there had been talk of unrest in the colonies, bitter complaints about Lord Townshend's unfair revenue schemes and the highhandedness of the British ministry. But no one in Dancer's Meadow had realized the situation was so volatile.
"There's more," Luther Quaid
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