An echo of laughter came from the other side of the room, and they turned to see Patrick dancing Iris through the studded wall of the bedroom he’d just finished framing. Faith sighed and decided to let Iris off the hook. Although she’d flirted with Patrick all week, she’d maintained acceptable behavior for Cora’s and Adam’s benefit. And for her own.
Iris wouldn’t admit it, but she’d finally met her match. Patrick Lyons was outrageous enough to keep her off balance.
And Tansy certainly enjoyed Mr. Darling’s company. Cyrus acted with utmost decorum, but his eyes followed Tansy like she was an exotic butterfly in a field of wildflowers. Tansy’s airy southern sweetness charmed the man, and the dazed look on his face said he was a goner.
Faith was too. Duke was temptation itself. Every charming half-smile, every teasing wink from his thick-lashed eyes, every tender kiss drew her closer to his flame.
Their playful banter built between them the following week as Duke and the men finished putting walls up in her house.
But Faith wasn’t the only one enjoying Duke’s attention. Adam hung on Duke’s every word, trying his hand at carpentry, beaming when Duke praised him, letting Duke teach him skills a father should teach his son.
Faith wanted Duke to be the one who guided Adam into manhood—and for him to guide her into becoming a wife and mother to their children.
Chapter Eighteen
Adam left his kicking-stone by the greenhouse and hurried out onto Liberty Street. Sheriff Grayson had a rowboat stashed in the gorge behind the house he shared with his mother, and he’d told Adam they could take it out today—after Adam apologized to Faith. So Adam had told Faith he was sorry, and she’d forgiven him as she always did; but her forgiveness only made him feel worse. He would never lie to her, or to anyone, again.
As he walked past Rebecca’s house, he saw her family in the front yard under the huge oak tree. Rebecca’s father was on his knees straddling William, who was calling for help. A little boy ran across the yard with a wild whoop, and jumped on Mr. Grayson’s back. “Got you, Daddy!” he cried.
Rebecca’s dad gave a loud grunt and fell to his side.
Adam huffed out a quiet laugh. It would take a man the sheriff’s size or bigger to knock over Mr. Grayson.
“Help us, Becca!” the little boy yelled, clamping his arms around his dad’s neck.
Rebecca dashed across the yard, her pretty black hair bouncing across her back.
Adam’s heart cartwheeled, and he stopped to watch. He hunched down and braced his elbows in the tumble of morning glory vines that flowed like a waterfall over the stone fence.
Rebecca planted her foot on her father’s stomach. “Unhand my brothers, you ogre.”
Her dad lunged upward and grabbed Rebecca’s waist, making her screech as he pulled her into the fray.
“Get her, Dad!” William yelled.
Rebecca swatted at her brother. “You little turncoat,” she said then burst into wild laughter as her father tickled her.
“What are the magic words?” Mr. Grayson asked.
“I love you,” Rebecca gasped and giggled, kicking her feet.
“Are you sure?” he asked, not letting up.
“Yes!” She shrieked with laughter. “I love you, Daddy!”
Her father stopped tickling, and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, sprite.”
Mrs. Grayson planted her hands on her hips and looked at her family sprawled on the lawn. “Who is going to scrub those grass stains out of your clothes?” she asked.
“Nobody. We’ll wear them to clean the barn.” Mr. Grayson caught his wife’s hand and pulled her down beside him, then promptly growled and bit her neck.
Her laughter filled the yard. “You need a shave, Mr. Grayson.”
“I need a kiss.” He planted a big one right on her lips.
The boys both groaned and tried to save their father by tugging him away. Rebecca laughed and cuffed William in the head as she sprinted toward the tree.
That’s when she saw Adam.
She gave him a cheerful wave, but Adam was too stunned to return her greeting. He didn’t know a father wrestled with his sons and tickled his daughter and kissed his wife in the middle of the yard.
Rebecca trotted to the fence. “Thank you for the gift,” she said, her face glowing with happiness.
Gift? Adam had tucked a note in the stone fence for her two days ago, but he hadn’t been sure she would remember to look for one. She had suggested it the last time he’d walked her to school. But the note sure seemed to make her happy.
Rebecca’s father was walking straight toward them with a look on his face that made Adam’s stomach queasy. “I’d better go,” he said, pushing off the fence. “I’ll leave another note when I can.”
“Mama made some sweet tea this morning. Can you stay for a glass?”
He shook his head. The cool look in her father’s eyes told him that he wasn’t welcome.
Mr. Grayson put his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Your mother needs help getting lunch on the table,” he said.
Rebecca’s brows pinched in confusion, but she could only cast a worried glance at Adam before dashing into the house.
Mr. Grayson sat on the fence, his manner friendly, his eyes suspicious. “Adam, you seem like a nice young man, but Rebecca is too young for courting.”
“COURTing?” Adam cleared his throat. “We’re just friends, sir.”
“A friend doesn’t leave an expensive parasol on the doorstep.”
Adam shook his head. “Sir, I haven’t given Rebecca any gifts.”
“Did you not leave that parasol on our doorstep for her?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Grayson nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “Rebecca is too young to keep company with you, Adam.”
In other words, stay away from my daughter. Adam got the message. Mr. Grayson was judging him unfairly, assuming the worst, and it made Adam want to yell at the top of his lungs so the whole world would know he was not a bad person. But he clamped his teeth against his anger, gave Rebecca’s judgmental father a curt nod, and walked away.
Nicholas Archer was coming down the road, and shouted to him, but Adam sprinted across the apple orchard to escape the boy. He didn’t need two beatings today.
The sheriff’s place was the next house up the road, and Adam was burning with anger when he banged on the door.
The sheriff answered, thrust a fishing rod into Adam’s hand then lifted a wicker hamper off the floor. “Let’s go hook some bass.” He pulled the door closed behind him, and they headed across the back yard.
Adam trudged alongside the sheriff as they crossed a field of shin-high grass and sprawling maple trees with lime-green leaves. Birch, pine, oak, and ash trees hugged the path that cut down into the gorge. Robins and swallows swooped overhead, twittering and singing. Small animals rustled beneath the ferns and sumac bushes, and the burbling sound of water grew louder as they descended into the gorge.
“My boat is over here,” the sheriff said, pointing to a cluster of towering pine trees. He set the basket on the grass, ducked beneath the low branches, and disappeared from sight. “Put the rod by the basket and come give me a hand.”
Adam laid the rod aside and ducked beneath the drooping limbs of the pine tree. He found the sheriff standing in a small, shadowy cathedral in the center of the trees. Sunlight shot down in beams from the towering tops of the trees to the thick cushion of pine needles beneath his feet. The scent of pine was heavy and fragrant, and Adam knew he’d never been in a more magical place. “This is... I don’t even know how to explain it,” he whispered.
The sheriff grinned. “It keeps my boat hidden so it doesn’t tempt anyone to paddle themselves into a dangerous situation.”
“I could live here.”
The sheriff laughed, but Adam was serious. It felt safe here.
They carried the boat twenty feet to t
he creek. Adam ran back for the basket and rod then gingerly stepped into the boat. The sheriff used the oars to push them away from the bank then worked the paddles with long, dragging strokes that propelled them north on Canadaway Creek.
Gliding through the water in a boat was a feeling Adam had never experienced, and he wanted to go faster, to race across the water like the wind. Trees that were perfect for climbing lined the shale and earth banks. A white, hairy dog stood with his front paws in the water, long, pink tongue lapping noisily from the creek. From the boat, everything along the banks seemed to tower above him.
The sheriff lifted his left oar and angled it toward shore. “There’s the greenhouse,” he said.
Adam viewed it from the back, seeing the little stone addition tucked against the huge white plank building. Faith was hanging laundry in the side yard, but from Adam’s position on the water, she looked like she was on a stage.
“Faith!” Adam shouted, waving his hand. He wanted her to see him in the boat. “Down here,” he said, rising up so she could see him. The boat rocked up on one side, and he gripped the edge, his heart thundering as he nearly fell overboard.
The sheriff grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the bench seat he’d been sitting on. “The first lesson is to never stand up in a boat.”
“Sorry, sir.”
The sheriff laughed. “You would have been more sorry if you had fallen in that water. It’s cold.”
“It’s July.”
“The water’s not warm enough for me until August.” He nodded toward shore. “Your sister has spotted us.”
She had, and Faith was smiling. Adam waved, feeling proud.
When she curtsied to them, the sheriff laughed.
Adam knew Faith liked the sheriff, and that she would probably marry him if he asked her, but he didn’t care about that today. He wanted to get his hands on the oars and row the boat.
They followed the creek through Fredonia, hearing talking and shouting and carriages rattling along the rutted roads. A mile out of the village, water dragons and horseflies buzzed along the banks. Birds chirped, and a woodpecker hammered a tree high above his head.
The sheriff grimaced and paused to rub his shoulder. “I could use a rest,” he said. “Think you could row for a bit?”
“Yes, sir!” Adam’s heart leapt as the sheriff pushed the oars into his hands. His first uneven stroke caused the boat to swing sideways. Sweat prickled beneath his shirt, but after a few awkward strokes, he got the boat heading north.
“Now, pull evenly with both oars,” the sheriff instructed.
It sounded easy, but Adam struggled to plunge in both oars at the same time and at the same depth. His left oar skimmed the surface and flung water across the sheriff’s face and shirt. The right oar sank deep and spun the boat sideways again. Adam waited for the sheriff to cuff him in the head for soaking him, but the man just laughed and wiped his face.
“I did the same thing to my dad the first time he let me row his boat.”
“REAlly?”
“REAlly,” the sheriff said, in a squawking imitation that made Adam laugh. Grinning, he said, “It takes some practice to get a good, even pull with both oars.”
“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” Adam admitted, looking behind him occasionally so he wouldn’t paddle them into a bank.
“You’re doing fine, son.”
A strange warmth filled Adam’s chest. If the sheriff married Faith, he would be sort of like a father. Adam didn’t like the sheriff’s lectures, but it was nice having someone to show him how to frame in a room or row a boat.
“We’re about to enter Lake Erie,” the sheriff said.
Adam peered over his shoulder to see a vast blue-green lake of water. His stomach soared with excitement then dove in terror. The lake was huge.
They didn’t go far from shore, but Adam rowed until sweat rolled down his back and his muscles burned. When the sheriff told him to stop, he almost sighed aloud.
Their boat drifted and bobbed on small waves while they ate delicious slabs of ham and thick slices of bread that the sheriff’s mother had packed in the wicker hamper. They shared a quart of water then the sheriff baited the fishing hook with a fat night crawler. He cast the line three times to show Adam how to do it. But when Adam tried it, he failed miserably. The third time his distance was better, but he snagged the hook on the lake bottom and lost it.
The sheriff didn’t seem to care at all. He just repaired the line and handed the rod back.
Adam wouldn’t take it. “I’ll ruin it,” he said.
“Adam, I’ve lost more hooks than I can count. That’s part of fishing. The first time I tried casting, I threw my father’s best fishing rod right into the lake. Sank like an anchor. I dove in after it, but the water was too deep to retrieve the rod. That’s one reason I fish close to shore.”
“Is that true?”
“I always tell the truth, Adam.”
Of course he did. He was the sheriff. And he was a Grayson.
Adam took the rod, but his mind was on Rebecca’s father when he cast the line. The hook and sinker shot over the water and landed with a soft blip six boat lengths away.
“Nice cast,” the sheriff said, but Adam’s jaw was clenched. He didn’t know anything about a stupid parasol.
“A fish is going to need a steam engine strapped to his tail to catch that hook you’re reeling in. Go slow and steady.”
“Yes, sir.”
Adam drew the rod up and cast the line again.
“Something eating at you today?”
“No, sir.” He reeled slowly, but his heart hammered. The sheriff wouldn’t be happy to learn that Adam hated his brother.
“You remember the talk we just had about speaking honestly, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” And Adam had just vowed not to lie to anyone ever again. “I’m angry, sir, but believe me, you don’t want to know why.”
“Is that a polite way of telling me it’s none of my business?”
A sick feeling rippled through his stomach, but he’d made a promise not to lie. “Your brother thinks I gave a parasol to Rebecca because I’m trying to court her.”
The sheriff’s eyebrows lowered, but he seemed confused instead of angry. “Did you tell Rebecca you wanted to court her?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you give her a parasol?”
“No.”
“Are you being truthful with me?”
“Yes,” Adam said, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
“All right then.” The sheriff gave him a nod as if to say Adam shouldn’t worry about this. “I’ll talk to Radford.”
“You believe me?” he asked, shocked.
“Yes, Adam. I’m trusting you to be truthful with me. Now go on and cast that line. I’d like some fish for my supper.”
Stunned, mind reeling, Adam obeyed, but his hook had barely hit the water when the rod dipped.
The sheriff gripped the pole and gave it a quick upward thrust. “You got him.”
“A fish?”
“Either that or a mermaid.”
Adam winced at his stupid question. “Should I reel him in?”
The sheriff released the rod and shook his head. “This fella wants to run. We’ll have to tire him out before we net him.”
The fish was pulling so hard he was towing the boat! Adam panicked. “I don’t know what to do.” His heart pounded and he tried to hand the rod to the sheriff, who wouldn’t take it.
“Just keep your grip firm and don’t let him run the line out.” He looked at the reel then at Adam. “When the line slackens, reel it in. If he fights hard, give him a bit of line to run with. He’ll get tired before you do.”
The reel spun as the fish fought the hook. Adam locked his fingers around the rod, reeling when the sheriff said to reel, holding steady when the sheriff warned him to hold the line. Sweat burned his eyes, and his heart banged wildly in his chest, but he didn’t let go of the rod. Th
e sun glared on the water and made his eyes tear, and half the time he couldn’t tell whether the fish was zigging or zagging.
“I’ll bet it’s a bass,” the sheriff said.
More like a whale, but Adam knew there were no whales in Lake Erie.
Whatever it was, it wanted loose. Adam kept a firm grip on the rod, sweating and reeling and praying, until finally, he landed the fish.
The sheriff let out a low whistle as he lifted the net and plopped the biggest fish Adam had ever seen into the bottom of the boat. “Looks like you’ll be bringing home supper tonight.” He propped his elbow on his knee and grinned at Adam. “Good job, son.”
Sweat stung Adam’s eyes and his arms ached like they’d been wrenched from his shoulder sockets, but he felt ten feet tall.
Chapter Nineteen
Wayne Archer thumped his fist on his counter. “I’m telling you, Sheriff Grayson, the parasol was stolen. We displayed it in that stand right by the door, and Miss Richards has had her eye on it for two weeks. It was our fanciest sunshade, and I can assure you I would remember selling it.”
Duke rolled his shoulder to ease the tension that was climbing his neck. “Could Mrs. Archer have sold the parasol?”
“Certainly. That’s why I checked with her. My wife didn’t sell it.”
“Did you sell it, Nicholas?” Duke asked Archer’s son, the boy involved in the incident at school with Adam and Rebecca.
“No, sir.”
Wayne scowled. “I’ve asked all the necessary questions, Sheriff. We conducted a thorough search of our store and could not locate it. The parasol was stolen.”
“All right.” Duke sighed, wondering if he’d been wrong to trust Adam. He didn’t want to be wrong about the boy. “I’ll need a list of everyone who has been in your store since Saturday.”
Wayne’s chin dropped. “That’s impossible. Nearly everyone in Fredonia frequents my apothecary.”
“It’s only Monday, Wayne. Surely you can remember who came in on Saturday and today?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said belligerently.
“As a candidate for sheriff, you must know how important it is to have a good memory. If you can’t name the people who have been in your store—”
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