you already got, enough for a new shirt and britches, city clothes that fit. Four and a half if you got the grit to start today.â
âYou can wait till morning,â Laurel said, but Walter nodded again and rose from the table.
âIâll get the hammer and nails,â Hank said as they walked out the door. âThe wireâs already up there but Iâll need you to fetch some locust posts.â
Laurel cleared the table, but before doing anything else she went to the window and peeked out. Thereâd be women who would fault his sharp-honed features, she knew, but he was handsome in his way. Hank was crossing the pasture, in his hand a pail holding staples and a hammer. Walter stood next to the barn, but he wasnât loading his arms with locust posts. Instead, he looked first at Hank before glancing toward the cabin. He kneeled and slipped something into the rock foundation. Walter looked around once more and rose, began filling his arms with locust posts.
Laurel waited a few minutes and then took a roundabout way to the barn so the men didnât see her. She felt inside the rock gap and found the chain and medallion. Save his life and take him in and he figures us to steal from him, Laurel thought, and grabbled deeper, expecting to find the money too. Nothing else was hidden. She studied the medallionâs one word, whispered how it might be pronounced before placing it back. She went to the cabin and opened the dictionary, thumbed past T and U before stopping at V . Laurel set her index finger on the slick onionskin paper and moved her finger down one page and on to the next. The word wasnât there.
Chapter Six
C hauncey rose from his desk and walked to the recruiting officeâs window. His gaze lifted over Luskâs Barbershop and the post office and up the swath of green grass to the collegeâs clock tower. Fifteen minutes. Most men would pull down the blinds and leave and no one would think the least thing about it, but Chauncey Feith couldnât do that. The one time he had, Ben Lusk lifted his white smock and checked his pocket watch, then looked at Chauncey like heâd just saluted a portrait of Kaiser Wilhelm. He sat back down and lifted the brass paperweight and straightened the recruitment forms, placed the paperweight back on the restacked paper.
Except for breaking up the brawl on the boardwalk, it had been another slow week. Which was only to be expected. The men who really wanted to fight for their country had volunteered last fall when America entered the fray. Now, with folks believing the war all but won, there was even more excuse not to enlist, though that didnât keep Captain Arnold at regional headquarters from blaming Chauncey when he didnât meet his enlistment quota.
Boyce Clayton passed by the window and Chauncey watched him cross the street and walk down the boardwalk to the Turkey Trot Gentlemenâs Club. When the towerâs bell rang, Chauncey would go to the Turkey Trot himself and ask about Boyceâs nephew Paul. It wasnât something he wanted to do, or had to do for that matter. It would even be after he was officially off duty. Yet he owed it to Paul. Just one more thing that people in Mars Hill hardly noticed, or if they did notice took the wrong way. If folks like Ben Lusk or Marvin Alexander at the post office saw Chauncey entering the Turkey Trot, theyâd believe he was only going to get liquored up, not inquire about a wounded soldier.
It was the same with Chauncey getting up fifteen minutes early to spit shine his shoes and iron his uniform. He never left the house until heâd checked that the RS and US on the collar buttons were aligned, the blue hat cord perfectly centered. Doing it just to look spiffy was what people wanted to think, not realizing that when potential recruits came in, especially the farm boys in overalls and brogans, theyâd imagine themselves wearing the polished shoes and
âYou can wait till morning,â Laurel said, but Walter nodded again and rose from the table.
âIâll get the hammer and nails,â Hank said as they walked out the door. âThe wireâs already up there but Iâll need you to fetch some locust posts.â
Laurel cleared the table, but before doing anything else she went to the window and peeked out. Thereâd be women who would fault his sharp-honed features, she knew, but he was handsome in his way. Hank was crossing the pasture, in his hand a pail holding staples and a hammer. Walter stood next to the barn, but he wasnât loading his arms with locust posts. Instead, he looked first at Hank before glancing toward the cabin. He kneeled and slipped something into the rock foundation. Walter looked around once more and rose, began filling his arms with locust posts.
Laurel waited a few minutes and then took a roundabout way to the barn so the men didnât see her. She felt inside the rock gap and found the chain and medallion. Save his life and take him in and he figures us to steal from him, Laurel thought, and grabbled deeper, expecting to find the money too. Nothing else was hidden. She studied the medallionâs one word, whispered how it might be pronounced before placing it back. She went to the cabin and opened the dictionary, thumbed past T and U before stopping at V . Laurel set her index finger on the slick onionskin paper and moved her finger down one page and on to the next. The word wasnât there.
Chapter Six
C hauncey rose from his desk and walked to the recruiting officeâs window. His gaze lifted over Luskâs Barbershop and the post office and up the swath of green grass to the collegeâs clock tower. Fifteen minutes. Most men would pull down the blinds and leave and no one would think the least thing about it, but Chauncey Feith couldnât do that. The one time he had, Ben Lusk lifted his white smock and checked his pocket watch, then looked at Chauncey like heâd just saluted a portrait of Kaiser Wilhelm. He sat back down and lifted the brass paperweight and straightened the recruitment forms, placed the paperweight back on the restacked paper.
Except for breaking up the brawl on the boardwalk, it had been another slow week. Which was only to be expected. The men who really wanted to fight for their country had volunteered last fall when America entered the fray. Now, with folks believing the war all but won, there was even more excuse not to enlist, though that didnât keep Captain Arnold at regional headquarters from blaming Chauncey when he didnât meet his enlistment quota.
Boyce Clayton passed by the window and Chauncey watched him cross the street and walk down the boardwalk to the Turkey Trot Gentlemenâs Club. When the towerâs bell rang, Chauncey would go to the Turkey Trot himself and ask about Boyceâs nephew Paul. It wasnât something he wanted to do, or had to do for that matter. It would even be after he was officially off duty. Yet he owed it to Paul. Just one more thing that people in Mars Hill hardly noticed, or if they did notice took the wrong way. If folks like Ben Lusk or Marvin Alexander at the post office saw Chauncey entering the Turkey Trot, theyâd believe he was only going to get liquored up, not inquire about a wounded soldier.
It was the same with Chauncey getting up fifteen minutes early to spit shine his shoes and iron his uniform. He never left the house until heâd checked that the RS and US on the collar buttons were aligned, the blue hat cord perfectly centered. Doing it just to look spiffy was what people wanted to think, not realizing that when potential recruits came in, especially the farm boys in overalls and brogans, theyâd imagine themselves wearing the polished shoes and
Similar Books
