here don't talk like that. And if you want to have any friends, you better not either! "
"Talk like what?"
"You know what I mean! Like ... like that! Like you were!"
"Oh, you mean women around here pretend that men aren't whispering about them in salacious undertones behind their backs?"
"Look, I apologized for that!" He pointed again, but was beginning to get rosy in the face.
"And then added insult to injury by standing in the doorway staring at me as if I were Lady Godiva. Shame on you, Mr. Farley. What would your wife think?" She turned away, put the bandbox on the piano stool, lifted off the lid and let it dangle from its silk cord. From inside she lifted a black straw hat with a pink rose, and from beneath that a stack of folded scarves.
All the while he stood behind her, ill-tempered and embarrassed, prodded by her chastising into
t_ 1
actually wondering what his wife would have thought. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again before defending himself with the most paltry excuse. le
"I don't have a wife."
"I'm not surprised," she returned., standing with her back to him while tying a scarf on her head backward.
When it was in place Roberta turned to finde him right where he'd been for too long, looking as though he'd like to clunk her a good one and send her reeling against the wall.
"What are you still doing here, Mr. Farley?" "Damned if I know!" he spouted,; and clumped through her parlor, across the porch and down the rickety steps into the rain. The last she saw of him was a flap of his brown oilskins as he veered left and stomped away.
"Good riddance," she mumbled, and went to work.
Gabriel Farley was a Mainer, born and bred, accustomed to the whims of the weather, but the damp and rain aggravated him that day. Well, maybe it wasn't all the damp and rain doing the dirty work. It was pretty hard to get a sassy woman like that out of your mind_, especially when she had you pegged dead to rights about your motives in nosing around her to begin with. Especially when you'd excused your actions with a misguided remark like I haven't got a wife.
Damn it a hy had he said that? He'd ,MTyway, w
n been r., ng around most of the afternoon with his jaw, set, glowering, before his brother Seth finally Said, "What's eating you today?" "Nothing. "
"Something with Isobel?" "Nope."
"Ma?" "Nope." "Well, what is it, then?"
"Mind your own business, Seth."
Seth continued measuring a piece of crossbucking for the wide double doors he was making. He and Gabe were building a shed/garage for one of the rich summer families who had homes in Boston and cottages here. A workbench of plywood and sawhorses stretched down the center of the newly erected structure. Seth bent over it, slashed a mark, stuck the thick gold carpenter's pencil behind his ear and whistled softly between his teeth.
He knew Gabriel. Best way to get it out of him was to quit asking.
He whistled some more while Gabe worked on setting a small window, going outside into the rain and using his hammer, then coming back inside to do more of the same.
Pretty soon Gabe said, "I'm going to be starting a job for Elfred Spear tomorrow, so I'll leave you to finish this one."
"What's Elfred got going?"
"Well, it's not exactly Elfred's job, he's just the one who's paying me to do it.
"Oh?"
"It's
the old Breckenridge house." "You're kidding! That old wreck?"
"I went over and looked at it this morning. Structurally, it's pretty sturdy. And it's got a slate roof"
"Old Sebastian was crazier than a coot by the time he died. I can about imagine what the place looks like inside."
"Ayup, it's a mess all right, but nothing that can't be fixed with some soap and water and plenty of paint. Needs a couple of new windowpanes, and plenty of puttying aroun4 the old ones. Foundation needs some mortar between the stones here and there, but I can handle all that pretty easily. I'll be tearing off the whole front porch and putting a new one on.
"Talk like what?"
"You know what I mean! Like ... like that! Like you were!"
"Oh, you mean women around here pretend that men aren't whispering about them in salacious undertones behind their backs?"
"Look, I apologized for that!" He pointed again, but was beginning to get rosy in the face.
"And then added insult to injury by standing in the doorway staring at me as if I were Lady Godiva. Shame on you, Mr. Farley. What would your wife think?" She turned away, put the bandbox on the piano stool, lifted off the lid and let it dangle from its silk cord. From inside she lifted a black straw hat with a pink rose, and from beneath that a stack of folded scarves.
All the while he stood behind her, ill-tempered and embarrassed, prodded by her chastising into
t_ 1
actually wondering what his wife would have thought. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again before defending himself with the most paltry excuse. le
"I don't have a wife."
"I'm not surprised," she returned., standing with her back to him while tying a scarf on her head backward.
When it was in place Roberta turned to finde him right where he'd been for too long, looking as though he'd like to clunk her a good one and send her reeling against the wall.
"What are you still doing here, Mr. Farley?" "Damned if I know!" he spouted,; and clumped through her parlor, across the porch and down the rickety steps into the rain. The last she saw of him was a flap of his brown oilskins as he veered left and stomped away.
"Good riddance," she mumbled, and went to work.
Gabriel Farley was a Mainer, born and bred, accustomed to the whims of the weather, but the damp and rain aggravated him that day. Well, maybe it wasn't all the damp and rain doing the dirty work. It was pretty hard to get a sassy woman like that out of your mind_, especially when she had you pegged dead to rights about your motives in nosing around her to begin with. Especially when you'd excused your actions with a misguided remark like I haven't got a wife.
Damn it a hy had he said that? He'd ,MTyway, w
n been r., ng around most of the afternoon with his jaw, set, glowering, before his brother Seth finally Said, "What's eating you today?" "Nothing. "
"Something with Isobel?" "Nope."
"Ma?" "Nope." "Well, what is it, then?"
"Mind your own business, Seth."
Seth continued measuring a piece of crossbucking for the wide double doors he was making. He and Gabe were building a shed/garage for one of the rich summer families who had homes in Boston and cottages here. A workbench of plywood and sawhorses stretched down the center of the newly erected structure. Seth bent over it, slashed a mark, stuck the thick gold carpenter's pencil behind his ear and whistled softly between his teeth.
He knew Gabriel. Best way to get it out of him was to quit asking.
He whistled some more while Gabe worked on setting a small window, going outside into the rain and using his hammer, then coming back inside to do more of the same.
Pretty soon Gabe said, "I'm going to be starting a job for Elfred Spear tomorrow, so I'll leave you to finish this one."
"What's Elfred got going?"
"Well, it's not exactly Elfred's job, he's just the one who's paying me to do it.
"Oh?"
"It's
the old Breckenridge house." "You're kidding! That old wreck?"
"I went over and looked at it this morning. Structurally, it's pretty sturdy. And it's got a slate roof"
"Old Sebastian was crazier than a coot by the time he died. I can about imagine what the place looks like inside."
"Ayup, it's a mess all right, but nothing that can't be fixed with some soap and water and plenty of paint. Needs a couple of new windowpanes, and plenty of puttying aroun4 the old ones. Foundation needs some mortar between the stones here and there, but I can handle all that pretty easily. I'll be tearing off the whole front porch and putting a new one on.
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