Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

sure I’m ever going to really fit in here—maybe with Aunt and Ernest—the others? Maybe they’ll have to grow up a little first.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be home with my folks. Spices floating through the air mixing with father’s pipe smoke. I’d perch on the stool by the hot grate, leaning against the soft velvet settee...

I liked being an only child. Sometimes I remember my older brother, but that’s spotty. He was taller than me, pale blonde hair. We rode the pump handle and played in mud. I recall the muddy tub we made when Mother scrubbed us clean. I remember painting the cold parlor window with dribbling spit—making pictures in each of the squares. And then he was gone. If he had lived beyond five years, he’d be taking care of me instead. What a strange thought.

My brother has them now. My parents. I suppose it’s about time he enjoyed them.

JAMES SHUDDERED AGAINST the wind that crept inside his collar. He’d been an absolute bully. He planned to merely scope out the situation. Reveal to her the matter of her ownership. Not create an enemy out of his new neighbor. Still and all, she seemed amiable enough despite their words. The situation had cast a glow inside of her, kind of like a Halloween jack-o-lantern.

He winced at his own words, “She’ll rule you to ruin.” He’d heard those words before and used them on her. Harshness from another time...

True, she did not need to claim a horse. He’d gone to great lengths to get Hammond into horse breeding. Her ignorance of farm life and its requirements gave him another reason to be irritated. Hammond needed to stop tiptoeing around the girl and she needed to start learning the life. Hard as it was. That would take time, like it had for him, not so long ago.

He released his breath he’d been inadvertently holding. He must be patient. Leave irritation behind him. Become again the good neighbor and friend he’d always been. The answer was always easier than his question. She’d felt unwelcome as a result of his confrontational stance. And she made mistakes she didn’t know she was making. To make matters worse, her cousins were becoming outright jealous of the girl. All while she grieved death. He touched a ridge of scars along his jaw. She needed time to heal.

He bowed his head and let the wind carve into his hatless hair, begging forgiveness from His Father. He had to hope for the best. Trust God.

The unease in his soul slipped away, even as the sun gave him its last and only glimmer of the day.

At the distant barn, Hammond was making himself clear to a certain row of children. At this rate, they’d be mucking the stalls and chicken coop until dinner tonight.

MARCH 5, 1880, EVENING

When I went down to supper, a packet of tea lay at my plate. I thanked Aunt, but she shook her head. I remained quiet along with the family as we dined. Perhaps the tea hadn’t come from her. I wondered if Uncle coerced Mr. Bleu into giving me his pantry staple?

I asked him outright after the table had been cleared. “Did you leave this at my plate?” I held the fragrant packet as though sacred.

“The last of my supply. Enjoy it.” He grinned sideways.

“Well, I certainly shan’t toss it into the sea. There is no tax, I suppose?” He seemed taken off guard. I was the colonial, perhaps, that needed to be subdued by the offshore king. I laughed unintentionally. “Thank you for this.”

“I need to show you that I truly am sorry.” He appeared all seriousness.

“How did you know I wanted real tea?”

He whispered, “I know what it’s like moving from nice living to—this...”

“This isn’t so bad.”

“Indeed not, but those herbal concoctions...” his eyes creased with humor yet remained dignified.

Was I exonerated from his prejudice? His kindness seemed genuine. I held out my hand firmly, not cringing as I shamefully did that first evening. He took it weakly. I felt forgiveness seep through me, for real this time.

“I am just dying for a real pot of tea. You have to share some with me. Since the others seem to have made themselves scarce.”

“Hammond had more than a few choice words with your cousins. I think they’d rather not be seen just now.”

“How embarrassing.”

“They’re not used to you yet. Not sure how to act—or what to make of a girl accustomed to a finer lifestyle.” He pointed a finger to his chest. “I, however, do know. That’s what made me uncertain about your intentions. Wealthy women can be very manipulative.”

He thought I came from wealth? “Some women can be, true. I had better parents than to let me fall into that mire.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Besides, men can be manipulative too. What about that little show he put on when confronting me about ownership? Not nice. I yammered on, “Preconceived notions are akin to lying to oneself. Assumptions have little or no roots to grow on. Hardly fair to anyone unless you have obvious grounds for feeling and acting about it a certain way. And even if you did have strong reasons...” he seemed appropriately abashed by my little speech.

I wondered at that moment if he’d had strong reasons after all. What did he know about my father that I did not? This man before me, if I may be bold enough to assume, seems solid enough. But he carried a grudge towards me before I’d met him. Being afraid of losing a small section of creek shouldn’t scare him to the point of protesting my inevitable ownership. Of usurping any power I might wield. What made Mr. Bleu and Uncle shake in their boots? I needed to figure this out. “Mr. Bleu, when did you meet my father?”

He did not respond straight away. He looked past me, the way Uncle had gone. Out of earshot? My stomach flipped. I was sure he knew something.

Mr.