welcome to stay here as
long as you need to. There’s no better place to talk to God than right here.”
“Thank you, Rev.
Whiting. Please tell my father I’ll be along directly. I’m going to walk
Alison home first. As for talking to God, I don’t believe I care to do that
right now.” Sam stood up and Alison followed, gripping the lantern. The pastor
stood also and watched them leave, his mouth a grim line.
The wind had softened
to a caress, but it was still cold. They crossed the field, and then started
toward the Granger home when Alison stopped. “I forgot. It’s Mrs. Reid’s
lantern. I need to take it back and the shawl and blanket too. But…then
you’ll be cold.”
Sam gazed at her
silently, and then replied, “We’ll be cold together.” His voice sounded
strained and hoarse after his tears.
When she tapped on
the schoolteacher’s door, it was pulled open after only a moment. Mary Reid
had obviously been weeping. She held a handkerchief to her nose and her voice
was nasal with tears, but she smiled when she saw them. “Good. You found him
then. I’m so sorry, Sam love. Your mother was my dearest friend.” She pulled
him into an embrace which was short-lived because of Sam’s stiffness.
Undaunted, she put one hand on his cheek and gazed at him. With a shake of her
head she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.
“We just came to
return your things. Thank you,” Alison offered as her own throat tightened
again with unshed tears.
“Oh, no, no! You
still need them. In fact, let me get you a coat to put on, Sam. My husband’s
is right here in the closet.” When she turned her back to open the closet
door, Alison and Sam stared at each other, their eyes wide. Mary drew out a
heavy wool jacket that she held up for Sam. “I think it will work just fine.
Now you tell your Da that I’ll come over in the morning to help out with the
youngsters and the arrangements. I’m going to close the school tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Reid.
I’ll bring this back tomorrow.” Alison raised the lantern as they turned to go
back outside.
“Hurry home now. It
almost feels like snow again,” Mary’s voice followed them into the night.
Alison and Sam
followed the rutted road, stepping carefully to avoid puddles that were skimmed
with ice. Their breath came in clouds, as the air had turned frigid. They
soon came to the three forks, where one road led past the store and post office,
down to the dock. The second led north out of town where it eventually joined
Route One and made for Bath. The third branch swerved left and led to the
Granger home and the farms owned by Chester Gilman’s father and his
brother-in-law, Roy Cooper. Their farm carts churned up the mud every spring
into an almost impassable lane, so several years before they laid a series of
half-sawn logs down the length of the lane, calling it the Corduroy Road. It
improved the problem with mud, but made it a particularly uncomfortable ride on
the wooden seat of a wagon. The partially submerged logs were slick from the
rain, and as Alison started tripping along, Sam took her arm to steady her,
then to steer her off the logs to the edge of the road. This brought a lump to
Alison’s throat, and tears rolled down her cheeks. The statement he’d made
which had almost slipped past her now became appallingly clear and she felt a
double loss. I leave in two weeks, he had said. She pulled the shawl closer
and began to shiver all over. It wasn’t just the chill in the air; she had
turned icy inside.
Sam felt her
trembling. He moved his arm across her shoulders. “You cold?” he questioned,
but noticing her tears he hesitated.
They stood within
sight of
long as you need to. There’s no better place to talk to God than right here.”
“Thank you, Rev.
Whiting. Please tell my father I’ll be along directly. I’m going to walk
Alison home first. As for talking to God, I don’t believe I care to do that
right now.” Sam stood up and Alison followed, gripping the lantern. The pastor
stood also and watched them leave, his mouth a grim line.
The wind had softened
to a caress, but it was still cold. They crossed the field, and then started
toward the Granger home when Alison stopped. “I forgot. It’s Mrs. Reid’s
lantern. I need to take it back and the shawl and blanket too. But…then
you’ll be cold.”
Sam gazed at her
silently, and then replied, “We’ll be cold together.” His voice sounded
strained and hoarse after his tears.
When she tapped on
the schoolteacher’s door, it was pulled open after only a moment. Mary Reid
had obviously been weeping. She held a handkerchief to her nose and her voice
was nasal with tears, but she smiled when she saw them. “Good. You found him
then. I’m so sorry, Sam love. Your mother was my dearest friend.” She pulled
him into an embrace which was short-lived because of Sam’s stiffness.
Undaunted, she put one hand on his cheek and gazed at him. With a shake of her
head she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief.
“We just came to
return your things. Thank you,” Alison offered as her own throat tightened
again with unshed tears.
“Oh, no, no! You
still need them. In fact, let me get you a coat to put on, Sam. My husband’s
is right here in the closet.” When she turned her back to open the closet
door, Alison and Sam stared at each other, their eyes wide. Mary drew out a
heavy wool jacket that she held up for Sam. “I think it will work just fine.
Now you tell your Da that I’ll come over in the morning to help out with the
youngsters and the arrangements. I’m going to close the school tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Reid.
I’ll bring this back tomorrow.” Alison raised the lantern as they turned to go
back outside.
“Hurry home now. It
almost feels like snow again,” Mary’s voice followed them into the night.
Alison and Sam
followed the rutted road, stepping carefully to avoid puddles that were skimmed
with ice. Their breath came in clouds, as the air had turned frigid. They
soon came to the three forks, where one road led past the store and post office,
down to the dock. The second led north out of town where it eventually joined
Route One and made for Bath. The third branch swerved left and led to the
Granger home and the farms owned by Chester Gilman’s father and his
brother-in-law, Roy Cooper. Their farm carts churned up the mud every spring
into an almost impassable lane, so several years before they laid a series of
half-sawn logs down the length of the lane, calling it the Corduroy Road. It
improved the problem with mud, but made it a particularly uncomfortable ride on
the wooden seat of a wagon. The partially submerged logs were slick from the
rain, and as Alison started tripping along, Sam took her arm to steady her,
then to steer her off the logs to the edge of the road. This brought a lump to
Alison’s throat, and tears rolled down her cheeks. The statement he’d made
which had almost slipped past her now became appallingly clear and she felt a
double loss. I leave in two weeks, he had said. She pulled the shawl closer
and began to shiver all over. It wasn’t just the chill in the air; she had
turned icy inside.
Sam felt her
trembling. He moved his arm across her shoulders. “You cold?” he questioned,
but noticing her tears he hesitated.
They stood within
sight of
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