services.’’
Harley shrugged. It was nothing to him.
Peterson started moving again, and Harley and Dirk followed as he continued the tour. ‘‘The castle will have a square turret above the door, topping its second floor.’’ He paused, looking up at the hill where a three-foot-tall wall stood. ‘‘When it’s done, a person will be able to stand in that turret and see the whole Smoky River Valley. The view should be similar to the one seen by Coronado himself when he climbed to the top of that rise, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive city of gold.’’
Harley frowned. Elusive? This man was a puzzle. In charge of a work crew, dressed in dusty dungarees and a worn chambray shirt, a two-day growth of whiskers on his chin, yet using speech that reminded Harley of Annie. Although Peterson wore rough clothing like the other workers, he carried himself with a dignified bearing that seemed somehow out of place on this barren countryside. The man must have education. Why would he be out here, in the middle of nowhere, telling men where to pile rocks?
For long moments Peterson stood, as if transfixed by the sight of the hill. Then he whirled, bringing his attention to the men once more. He swiped his sleeve across his forehead and pointed. ‘‘Over there will be a picnic grounds. You can see where the rock wall has been started to define that area. We will build a fireplace for visitors to use, and there will also be a rock outhouse, large enough to accommodate both genders.’’
He took a great breath and plunged his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘‘So, gentlemen, the options for working are digging, hauling, or building. Can either of you read a blueprint?’’
Harley and Dirk exchanged a glance. Harley surmised by the blank expression on Dirk’s face that he couldn’t read a blueprint any better than Harley. Harley answered for both of them. ‘‘No, sir.’’
‘‘Well, then, that leaves out building.’’ Peterson slapped Dirk on the shoulder. ‘‘Farley, you join the men at the shale pile. Ask for Spence. He’ll tell you what to do.’’
Dirk nodded to the boss. ‘‘See ya later, Harley.’’ He trotted off toward the large rock pile.
Peterson turned to Harley. ‘‘And, Phipps, I assume you know which end of a shovel goes into the ground?’’
Harley bristled. Was the man making fun of him? ‘‘Of course I do.’’ The words carried a hint of resentment.
Peterson’s eyebrows raised, but the boss didn’t comment on Harley’s indignant reply. Instead, he slapped a hand across Harley’s shoulders and aimed him toward the area southwest of the picnic grounds. Harley spotted two men, leaning on shovels. ‘‘Well, then, I’m putting you to work on the pit for the outhouse. Let’s get going.’’
Deflated, Harley moved woodenly in the direction given. A pit for the outhouse. He kicked at a clump of brittle grass and watched the brown wisps skitter across the ground. His hope of having a part in building a castle—something of value that would last—blew away like those dead bits of grass. These days, a man shouldn’t even dream. Dreams were just as elusive as that city of gold Coronado never found.
11
‘‘M AMA, HOW COME YOU always hide when Mr. Berkley comes over?’’
Anna Mae sent Dorothy a startled look across the breakfast table. ‘‘What?’’ She forced her lips to form a quavery smile. ‘‘I don’t hide , honey.’’
Dorothy’s wide blue eyes blinked twice. ‘‘Uh-huh, you do. You run into the barn. Or you stay in the kitchen. He askded me how come.’’
Anna Mae felt her temper building. Oh, he did, did he? Well, Jack Berkley better leave Dorothy alone. He had no right to question the child about her mother. Her temper faded, however, as she remembered that awful morning three days ago when she’d stood before him in a milk-soaked gown. Shame took anger’s place. How would she ever be able to face Jack again after he’d seen . . .
Harley shrugged. It was nothing to him.
Peterson started moving again, and Harley and Dirk followed as he continued the tour. ‘‘The castle will have a square turret above the door, topping its second floor.’’ He paused, looking up at the hill where a three-foot-tall wall stood. ‘‘When it’s done, a person will be able to stand in that turret and see the whole Smoky River Valley. The view should be similar to the one seen by Coronado himself when he climbed to the top of that rise, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive city of gold.’’
Harley frowned. Elusive? This man was a puzzle. In charge of a work crew, dressed in dusty dungarees and a worn chambray shirt, a two-day growth of whiskers on his chin, yet using speech that reminded Harley of Annie. Although Peterson wore rough clothing like the other workers, he carried himself with a dignified bearing that seemed somehow out of place on this barren countryside. The man must have education. Why would he be out here, in the middle of nowhere, telling men where to pile rocks?
For long moments Peterson stood, as if transfixed by the sight of the hill. Then he whirled, bringing his attention to the men once more. He swiped his sleeve across his forehead and pointed. ‘‘Over there will be a picnic grounds. You can see where the rock wall has been started to define that area. We will build a fireplace for visitors to use, and there will also be a rock outhouse, large enough to accommodate both genders.’’
He took a great breath and plunged his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘‘So, gentlemen, the options for working are digging, hauling, or building. Can either of you read a blueprint?’’
Harley and Dirk exchanged a glance. Harley surmised by the blank expression on Dirk’s face that he couldn’t read a blueprint any better than Harley. Harley answered for both of them. ‘‘No, sir.’’
‘‘Well, then, that leaves out building.’’ Peterson slapped Dirk on the shoulder. ‘‘Farley, you join the men at the shale pile. Ask for Spence. He’ll tell you what to do.’’
Dirk nodded to the boss. ‘‘See ya later, Harley.’’ He trotted off toward the large rock pile.
Peterson turned to Harley. ‘‘And, Phipps, I assume you know which end of a shovel goes into the ground?’’
Harley bristled. Was the man making fun of him? ‘‘Of course I do.’’ The words carried a hint of resentment.
Peterson’s eyebrows raised, but the boss didn’t comment on Harley’s indignant reply. Instead, he slapped a hand across Harley’s shoulders and aimed him toward the area southwest of the picnic grounds. Harley spotted two men, leaning on shovels. ‘‘Well, then, I’m putting you to work on the pit for the outhouse. Let’s get going.’’
Deflated, Harley moved woodenly in the direction given. A pit for the outhouse. He kicked at a clump of brittle grass and watched the brown wisps skitter across the ground. His hope of having a part in building a castle—something of value that would last—blew away like those dead bits of grass. These days, a man shouldn’t even dream. Dreams were just as elusive as that city of gold Coronado never found.
11
‘‘M AMA, HOW COME YOU always hide when Mr. Berkley comes over?’’
Anna Mae sent Dorothy a startled look across the breakfast table. ‘‘What?’’ She forced her lips to form a quavery smile. ‘‘I don’t hide , honey.’’
Dorothy’s wide blue eyes blinked twice. ‘‘Uh-huh, you do. You run into the barn. Or you stay in the kitchen. He askded me how come.’’
Anna Mae felt her temper building. Oh, he did, did he? Well, Jack Berkley better leave Dorothy alone. He had no right to question the child about her mother. Her temper faded, however, as she remembered that awful morning three days ago when she’d stood before him in a milk-soaked gown. Shame took anger’s place. How would she ever be able to face Jack again after he’d seen . . .
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