heart.
"You must not worry. I have taken every care with the rigging. I am a professional, Juliana. Nothing will happen to any of us because we are very careful."
Julie's heart hammered in her chest. Dammed-up tears made her eyes ache; where could she go to cry? There was no privacy in this house for her grief.
Blindly she whirled and ran down the steps. She headed for the driveway, not sure where she was going but knowing that she needed to be alone.
Stephen wasn't about to let her isolate herself. Guilt overwhelmed him. Julie was angry, sad, upset—and all because of him. Somehow he had to set things right.
He caught up with her as she was fumbling with the latch on a chained gate that led to one of the old unused pastures. The moonlight made everything almost as clear as day.
"Go away!" she demanded, tearing a fingernail on the stubborn latch. It ripped close to the quick.
"Here, I will unlatch the chain if you will let go," Stephen said. He was so calm, so authoritative. With eyes glazed with tears, she stepped back. He didn't question where she was going, and she was glad of that because she didn't know.
"There," Stephen said. The gate pushed open with a swish against the high grass.
Uncertainly she passed through. She gripped her hurt finger tightly with the other hand.
"Now, where are we going?"
"I—I want to be alone."
He refused to acknowledge this. "We can walk this way," he said, gesturing toward a stand of trees. "There's a narrow brook there."
A soft wind soughed in the branches of the trees. Leaves rubbed together with a whispering sound, and little fruit bats swooped and dipped overhead. Something scurried through the tall grass, and Julie wondered what kind of night creature it was. Even though the moonlight illuminated the pasture well, Julie had to admit that she wouldn't have wanted to be alone. It was unfamiliar territory. She had been a fool to run off without so much as a flashlight.
When she didn't speak, Stephen said easily, "I have explored the farm when I was looking for the best place to set up the low practice wire and the king poles. The brook is very pretty, and I've always wanted to see it by moonlight."
Julie walked slightly slower than he did, a half-step behind. With a questioning smile on his face, he turned to her and slowed his step so that she walked beside him. His handsome features were silvered by the light of a moon as white as a magnolia blossom.
"Hear the brook?"
Julie nodded, still gripping her injured finger in her other hand. The lyrical sound of water rushing over rocks grew louder as they approached.
"Watch your step here," Stephen cautioned, gripping her elbow. The rocks, dampened by mist rising from the water, were indeed slick. Once Julie grabbed Stephen's hand.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she murmured. She wished she had never started this.
"Now," Stephen said when they stopped on the creek bank. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the rag with which he had wiped the wire that morning. "You may sit on this, so that your clothes will not get dirty from the rock." He spread the cloth out on a large flat rock and settled himself beside her.
The pearl-gray vapor rose from the stream, lending the moon-flooded creek bank a sense of unreality. Damp sand edged the rocks, and on the opposite bank, little saplings dipped low, looking like the acrobats of the tree family. Water purled softly at their feet, singing a song of bewitchery, of moon-haunting in the mist.
Julie put her finger with the torn fingernail in her mouth. She tasted blood.
Stephen saw the flicker of pain cross her face. "Is something wrong?" he asked quickly. "Have you hurt your finger?"
Julie inspected the fingernail. "I tore it when I was trying to get the gate open."
"Here, we will wash it with the water of the brook," Stephen said. He dampened his handkerchief and returned to her, lifting her hand gently as he dabbed at her fingernail.
"Does that make it feel
"You must not worry. I have taken every care with the rigging. I am a professional, Juliana. Nothing will happen to any of us because we are very careful."
Julie's heart hammered in her chest. Dammed-up tears made her eyes ache; where could she go to cry? There was no privacy in this house for her grief.
Blindly she whirled and ran down the steps. She headed for the driveway, not sure where she was going but knowing that she needed to be alone.
Stephen wasn't about to let her isolate herself. Guilt overwhelmed him. Julie was angry, sad, upset—and all because of him. Somehow he had to set things right.
He caught up with her as she was fumbling with the latch on a chained gate that led to one of the old unused pastures. The moonlight made everything almost as clear as day.
"Go away!" she demanded, tearing a fingernail on the stubborn latch. It ripped close to the quick.
"Here, I will unlatch the chain if you will let go," Stephen said. He was so calm, so authoritative. With eyes glazed with tears, she stepped back. He didn't question where she was going, and she was glad of that because she didn't know.
"There," Stephen said. The gate pushed open with a swish against the high grass.
Uncertainly she passed through. She gripped her hurt finger tightly with the other hand.
"Now, where are we going?"
"I—I want to be alone."
He refused to acknowledge this. "We can walk this way," he said, gesturing toward a stand of trees. "There's a narrow brook there."
A soft wind soughed in the branches of the trees. Leaves rubbed together with a whispering sound, and little fruit bats swooped and dipped overhead. Something scurried through the tall grass, and Julie wondered what kind of night creature it was. Even though the moonlight illuminated the pasture well, Julie had to admit that she wouldn't have wanted to be alone. It was unfamiliar territory. She had been a fool to run off without so much as a flashlight.
When she didn't speak, Stephen said easily, "I have explored the farm when I was looking for the best place to set up the low practice wire and the king poles. The brook is very pretty, and I've always wanted to see it by moonlight."
Julie walked slightly slower than he did, a half-step behind. With a questioning smile on his face, he turned to her and slowed his step so that she walked beside him. His handsome features were silvered by the light of a moon as white as a magnolia blossom.
"Hear the brook?"
Julie nodded, still gripping her injured finger in her other hand. The lyrical sound of water rushing over rocks grew louder as they approached.
"Watch your step here," Stephen cautioned, gripping her elbow. The rocks, dampened by mist rising from the water, were indeed slick. Once Julie grabbed Stephen's hand.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she murmured. She wished she had never started this.
"Now," Stephen said when they stopped on the creek bank. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the rag with which he had wiped the wire that morning. "You may sit on this, so that your clothes will not get dirty from the rock." He spread the cloth out on a large flat rock and settled himself beside her.
The pearl-gray vapor rose from the stream, lending the moon-flooded creek bank a sense of unreality. Damp sand edged the rocks, and on the opposite bank, little saplings dipped low, looking like the acrobats of the tree family. Water purled softly at their feet, singing a song of bewitchery, of moon-haunting in the mist.
Julie put her finger with the torn fingernail in her mouth. She tasted blood.
Stephen saw the flicker of pain cross her face. "Is something wrong?" he asked quickly. "Have you hurt your finger?"
Julie inspected the fingernail. "I tore it when I was trying to get the gate open."
"Here, we will wash it with the water of the brook," Stephen said. He dampened his handkerchief and returned to her, lifting her hand gently as he dabbed at her fingernail.
"Does that make it feel
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