temper.”
“I never thought of that as any nation's special trait. Anyway, you don't seem to hold a grudge. That's the important thing—and you admit when you're wrong. Some folks will never do that.” She picked up the sprinkling can, her hoe and other small gardening tools, and he took the empty pails and followed her around to the shed.
As she replaced the gardening utensils on the pegs along the wall, he asked, “What about cleaning up in the river? You could at least scrub off the worst of the mud and spare your family washroom.”
Rebekah hesitated until he added, “I've got my horse with me. I can have you back in plenty of time for supper. Promise.”
“Exactly what my already hoydenish reputation would need—to be seen covered head to foot in mud, riding with a stranger to bathe in the river! Thank you, Rory, but I must decline.”
“I do want to see you again, Rebekah, although I suspect your family won't approve of me,” he added stiffly.
“I'd like to see you again, too.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “You're right. You're an Irish Catholic. Even my father, who's a very kind and tolerant man, wouldn't approve of my keeping company with someone outside our faith.” She did not mention her father's unreasoning dislike of the Irish.
“I always go fishing on Sunday afternoons down at the river—out that direction, past where it curves around that big stand of alders. If you could slip away and meet me, no one would know—at least until you wanted to tell them about us.” His voice was cautious and neutral.
“I’ll try if I can this Sunday.” Her voice was frightened and breathless.
He whistled and his big bay stallion came trotting obediently around the corner of the shed. “This is Lobsterback,” he said as Rebekah admired the horse.
“Lobsterback. What an odd name for such a magnificent animal.” She scratched the bay's forehead and grinned at Rory. “Don't tell me that's not a real slur against the English.”
“Sassenachs,” he said, but without rancor as he swung up and returned her grin. “But I like the horse even if he does have a red coat.” He kneed the bay forward, calling out to her, “I'll meet you at the river Sunday.”
Rebekah stood rooted to the ground as he rode off, his words echoing enticingly. I'll meet you at the river Sunday. “That was probably how Satan tempted Eve back in the garden,” she chided herself. But she knew she would be there on Sunday, come high water...or hell.
Chapter Four
Rebekah dressed for church that Sunday morning with particular care, glad she had been able to finish sewing the new dress length into a pretty summer frock. It was only an inexpensive lavender calico, but at least it was made to fit her, not taken in from her sister's more ample proportions, with the hem let down for her ungainly height. She piled her hair on top of her head and plied the curling iron to create a cluster of soft ringlets, then hid the fancy hairstyle beneath a demure bonnet she could discard after worship.
When she inspected her slender form and sun-kissed face in the mirror, she was pleased in spite of the light dusting of small gold freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Mama had scolded furiously because she had worked outdoors without taking precautions. If only she knew what else her daughter had done that afternoon in the garden! Forcing the disquieting thought aside, Rebekah smoothed the bodice of the simple dress over the soft swell of her breasts. If only she were large-breasted with wide, flared hips instead of being so...well, flat! But Rory didn't seem to mind.
She scolded herself. Such a thing could not be dwelt upon during morning worship. Bad enough that she was sneaking out this very afternoon to meet a man. What
“I never thought of that as any nation's special trait. Anyway, you don't seem to hold a grudge. That's the important thing—and you admit when you're wrong. Some folks will never do that.” She picked up the sprinkling can, her hoe and other small gardening tools, and he took the empty pails and followed her around to the shed.
As she replaced the gardening utensils on the pegs along the wall, he asked, “What about cleaning up in the river? You could at least scrub off the worst of the mud and spare your family washroom.”
Rebekah hesitated until he added, “I've got my horse with me. I can have you back in plenty of time for supper. Promise.”
“Exactly what my already hoydenish reputation would need—to be seen covered head to foot in mud, riding with a stranger to bathe in the river! Thank you, Rory, but I must decline.”
“I do want to see you again, Rebekah, although I suspect your family won't approve of me,” he added stiffly.
“I'd like to see you again, too.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “You're right. You're an Irish Catholic. Even my father, who's a very kind and tolerant man, wouldn't approve of my keeping company with someone outside our faith.” She did not mention her father's unreasoning dislike of the Irish.
“I always go fishing on Sunday afternoons down at the river—out that direction, past where it curves around that big stand of alders. If you could slip away and meet me, no one would know—at least until you wanted to tell them about us.” His voice was cautious and neutral.
“I’ll try if I can this Sunday.” Her voice was frightened and breathless.
He whistled and his big bay stallion came trotting obediently around the corner of the shed. “This is Lobsterback,” he said as Rebekah admired the horse.
“Lobsterback. What an odd name for such a magnificent animal.” She scratched the bay's forehead and grinned at Rory. “Don't tell me that's not a real slur against the English.”
“Sassenachs,” he said, but without rancor as he swung up and returned her grin. “But I like the horse even if he does have a red coat.” He kneed the bay forward, calling out to her, “I'll meet you at the river Sunday.”
Rebekah stood rooted to the ground as he rode off, his words echoing enticingly. I'll meet you at the river Sunday. “That was probably how Satan tempted Eve back in the garden,” she chided herself. But she knew she would be there on Sunday, come high water...or hell.
Chapter Four
Rebekah dressed for church that Sunday morning with particular care, glad she had been able to finish sewing the new dress length into a pretty summer frock. It was only an inexpensive lavender calico, but at least it was made to fit her, not taken in from her sister's more ample proportions, with the hem let down for her ungainly height. She piled her hair on top of her head and plied the curling iron to create a cluster of soft ringlets, then hid the fancy hairstyle beneath a demure bonnet she could discard after worship.
When she inspected her slender form and sun-kissed face in the mirror, she was pleased in spite of the light dusting of small gold freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Mama had scolded furiously because she had worked outdoors without taking precautions. If only she knew what else her daughter had done that afternoon in the garden! Forcing the disquieting thought aside, Rebekah smoothed the bodice of the simple dress over the soft swell of her breasts. If only she were large-breasted with wide, flared hips instead of being so...well, flat! But Rory didn't seem to mind.
She scolded herself. Such a thing could not be dwelt upon during morning worship. Bad enough that she was sneaking out this very afternoon to meet a man. What
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