laughed, then let out a whoop of joy and pleasure. She bounced and rolled and reeled crazily. There are my feet and legs
and pantalets! she thought to herself. They’re sticking straight up into the sky! How silly!
Twigs and small leaves brushed her, and moments later she felt her shoulder graze a hard place, but she scarcely felt any
of these things. And then she was sliding through soft wet dirt, and she thought of her dress—her fresh and summery daffodil-yellow
dress which would now be permanently soiled with indelible grass stains.
She glanced at Sam tumbling down behind her. She was glad that he, too, was in the same fix she was.
And then she was at the bottom, sitting in a shallow pool of muddy spring water. Sam Houston Hawken was on top of her, with
his arms and legs tangled in hers.
He groaned, gingerly extracting himself from her. “Spending time with you is more than an adventure. Are you all right?”
At that moment she realized that she could have pulled or broken something. She shook her head to clear it. Then she took
quick stock of herself. “I don’t think so,” she said. Her breast, she quickly realized, had started to sting from her burn,
but she ignored that as best she could.
He was free of her by now, but he was not yet standing. Instead he was sitting on the bank of the spring and staring at her—shaking
his head, his eyes sad and accusatory. Does he think I did it on purpose? she thought.
“I must look horrible,” she said. “Am I a wreck?”
“That pretty well sums it up,” he said.
“Well you’re not fashionable yourself, Cadet Hawken. Your trousers are torn and there’s mud on your face.”
“I can well imagine,” he said, rising to his feet and taking several deep breaths as he did. “Here, take my hand.” He leaned
over toward her, holding his hand out. She took it, and, pulling her to her feet, he helped her onto the bank.
“Now that you’ve caught your breath, tell me again whether you’re all right,” he said.
She took a few steps, then raised and lowered her arms a few times. “I’m fine,” she said in spite of her painful breast.
“Thank God,” he said, then raised his eyes to see how far the two of them had tumbled down. He shook his head in amazement
at their good fortune. “It’s a long way,” he said, still shaking his head.
“We’re just like Jack and Jill,” she said, smiling and tilting her head back.
He smiled along with her, to her relief, but it was a sober smile. “You’re right,” he said. “Jack and Jill, imagine that.”
He paused. “I wonder if
she
pushed him.”
Miranda decided not to pursue that thought. He looked at the sky, which was growing darker by the minute. “We should get back.
We’ll be in trouble enough as it is.”
She looked at him and at the sky. “All right,” she said. Then she stooped down and cleaned herself as best she could in the
spring. He stooped down beside her.
Sam was pensive and quiet as they returned to the hotel. The fall had darkened his mood and left him much less inclined to
be playful.
She imagined that his change in mood was due to apprehension about the consequences of their tumble. He must be worried about
what people would think about them when they appeared so messy and disheveled.
But when words at last returned to him, she learned that he wasn’t thinking about their appearance at all.
“I’m bothered,” he said. Her hand had found its way into his as they walked. Neither was especially conscious of their contact—it
simply felt right.
“Bothered?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “We all are—Lam, Noah, and me. We’re all in for a fall. The whole country will be in it. Half will fall
one way, and the other half will fall the other. And the three of us…” He stopped.
“You’re suggesting,” she said softly, carefully, “that you may not fall with the South?” He looked away from her. “I don’t
know,” he said.
and pantalets! she thought to herself. They’re sticking straight up into the sky! How silly!
Twigs and small leaves brushed her, and moments later she felt her shoulder graze a hard place, but she scarcely felt any
of these things. And then she was sliding through soft wet dirt, and she thought of her dress—her fresh and summery daffodil-yellow
dress which would now be permanently soiled with indelible grass stains.
She glanced at Sam tumbling down behind her. She was glad that he, too, was in the same fix she was.
And then she was at the bottom, sitting in a shallow pool of muddy spring water. Sam Houston Hawken was on top of her, with
his arms and legs tangled in hers.
He groaned, gingerly extracting himself from her. “Spending time with you is more than an adventure. Are you all right?”
At that moment she realized that she could have pulled or broken something. She shook her head to clear it. Then she took
quick stock of herself. “I don’t think so,” she said. Her breast, she quickly realized, had started to sting from her burn,
but she ignored that as best she could.
He was free of her by now, but he was not yet standing. Instead he was sitting on the bank of the spring and staring at her—shaking
his head, his eyes sad and accusatory. Does he think I did it on purpose? she thought.
“I must look horrible,” she said. “Am I a wreck?”
“That pretty well sums it up,” he said.
“Well you’re not fashionable yourself, Cadet Hawken. Your trousers are torn and there’s mud on your face.”
“I can well imagine,” he said, rising to his feet and taking several deep breaths as he did. “Here, take my hand.” He leaned
over toward her, holding his hand out. She took it, and, pulling her to her feet, he helped her onto the bank.
“Now that you’ve caught your breath, tell me again whether you’re all right,” he said.
She took a few steps, then raised and lowered her arms a few times. “I’m fine,” she said in spite of her painful breast.
“Thank God,” he said, then raised his eyes to see how far the two of them had tumbled down. He shook his head in amazement
at their good fortune. “It’s a long way,” he said, still shaking his head.
“We’re just like Jack and Jill,” she said, smiling and tilting her head back.
He smiled along with her, to her relief, but it was a sober smile. “You’re right,” he said. “Jack and Jill, imagine that.”
He paused. “I wonder if
she
pushed him.”
Miranda decided not to pursue that thought. He looked at the sky, which was growing darker by the minute. “We should get back.
We’ll be in trouble enough as it is.”
She looked at him and at the sky. “All right,” she said. Then she stooped down and cleaned herself as best she could in the
spring. He stooped down beside her.
Sam was pensive and quiet as they returned to the hotel. The fall had darkened his mood and left him much less inclined to
be playful.
She imagined that his change in mood was due to apprehension about the consequences of their tumble. He must be worried about
what people would think about them when they appeared so messy and disheveled.
But when words at last returned to him, she learned that he wasn’t thinking about their appearance at all.
“I’m bothered,” he said. Her hand had found its way into his as they walked. Neither was especially conscious of their contact—it
simply felt right.
“Bothered?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “We all are—Lam, Noah, and me. We’re all in for a fall. The whole country will be in it. Half will fall
one way, and the other half will fall the other. And the three of us…” He stopped.
“You’re suggesting,” she said softly, carefully, “that you may not fall with the South?” He looked away from her. “I don’t
know,” he said.
Similar Books
