Read Online 15 Tales of Love by Jessie Salisbury - Free Book Online Page A

stricken by the loss of his young wife, Horace’s mother, it was fifteen years before he found my mother.”
    But Uncle Horace, now long widowed and with his children moved away, had a fondness for his younger brother. And, unfortunately Jasmyn thought, he lived down the road with time on his hands and spent a lot of it at her parents’ home. Granted, he did save her father a lot of handyman kind of chores and kept the lawns mowed.
    Right now, she and Uncle Horace were stacking the firewood for the kitchen stove they used when the power was out, as it frequently was in the winter. It was one of the things he did precisely. Very precisely. His neat square wood pile had no spaces between tiers and would not, under any circumstances, dare to fall down. Jasmyn was much less picky, causing Horace to quietly and efficiently straighten out Jasmyn’s contributions to the pile when he thought she wasn’t looking. But the wood had gotten wet in last night’s rain, covering her with dirt and damp sawdust, which did not improve her mood.
    “But it doesn’t matter if the wood gets a little wet,” Horace said cheerfully, “as long as it’s dry.”
    Jasmyn knew he was referring to the wood being properly seasoned, that is ‘dry’ as opposed to ‘green,’ but the comment irritated her more than usual. It was just so trite. She knew she shouldn’t respond, but she asked, “How can you have ‘wet dry’ wood?”
    He chuckled. “Because it doesn’t matter about the outside as long as the inside is good. Like people sometimes.” He was tall and lanky, his still abundant hair steel gray, his youthful strength barely reduced in spite of his more than 75 years. He had lived a hard life by most standards, but not his.
    She humphed and didn’t continue the conversation. She wanted to get the wood into the shed as quickly as possible; she had other things to do before it got too hot. August afternoons could be uncomfortable. She needed a quick trip to the lake for a swim, but had decided to help Horace first.
    A car pulled into the driveway behind them. She straightened and turned to see who had arrived. Stretching her back with her hands on her hips, she watched Matt Colby climb out of his dark blue Acura with decidedly mixed feelings. She was glad to see him but was also exasperated. We should be planning a wedding, not for him to go back to college for another degree he doesn’t need for anything. And what on earth are ‘American Studies,’ anyway?
    He was, she thought as she walked toward him, a very good looking man, although a little on the stocky side with light brown severely trimmed hair. He was, as always, conservatively and tastefully dressed in tan slacks and a blue polo.
    “Hi, Matt. I thought you were going into Boston today.”
    He held out his arms, hugged her quickly and sketched a quick air kiss on her cheek. “My interview with the department head got postponed. But, I got the position at the research library.”
    She asked, trying to hide her resignation, “So you’ll be moving down there again?” She was genuinely happy for him. It was a position he wanted and had been agonizing over during the wait for confirmation.
    “Yes, of course. I don’t want to commute if I don’t have to. All that traffic and the cost of gas.”
    Of course not. You’ll just move in with your cousin Barry again and I can twiddle my thumbs for months while you indulge yourself. Don’t you think I’d like to come along and share that? She said, “That’s great,” and almost meant it.
    Matt looked beyond her. “Hello, Uncle Horace. Busy as usual, I see.”
    “If it needs doin’, do it. Nothin’ does itself.” Then he added, squinting a little in the sunshine. “Nice day for doin’ things.”
    “Well, yes, and I have a lot of things to do.” He looked back at Jasmyn. “I stopped by to see if you could do an early dinner. Then I’ll drive down to Barry’s.”
    “Of course, but Uncle Horace might need my help . .