now.
“I have a feeling you’ve stored up a lot of memories, just like I’m storing that hay,” Reed said, not knowing what possessed him to make such a remark.
“Yes,” she said, “it is sweet to remember. You know, looking back now, it seems as though all my recollections are set to music, even those that were hard to bear. At this point in my life, memories are my fondest possession.”
“Life has been good to you.”
“Oh yes, I’ve had a good time of it, and few regrets. How fortunate I am to have the memories, to be able to live the good times twice.”
From somewhere outside the barn came the sound of Susannah’s voice. She was calling Miss Lavender with a musical lilt to the sweet promise of tasty slops.
In response, Miss Lavender went into an oinking frenzy.
Susannah’s laughter was seductive as hell. It made him want to go to her, to see if the promise in her laugh was, in fact, reality.
He stared toward the open door, envisioning how she must look at this moment. He wondered during their first meeting if she ever laughed; now he’d learned she did, but would she do so in his presence? Would he see her eyes light up at the sight of him? What good times would Susannah remember when she was Violette’s age?
Violette broke into his trance of preoccupation with Susannah. “You are wondering about her memories?”
“Perceptive, aren’t you?”
“It’s an old woman’s advantage. Tell me, what were you thinking of in regard to my niece?”
“As you guessed, I was thinking about her memories—or lack of them, as it would appear. Although I’ve only been here a short while, she doesn’t seem to have much of a life, aside from this farm and the two of you.”
An expression of deep and profound sadness crept over Violette’s face, but it lingered for only a moment until she was able to push it away. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! I had you pegged right. I knew you were a sensitive man the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re not the first man to notice my niece by any means, but you are the first to see past the external beauty. I think you are more attracted to what’s inside that girl. Most men look at her and see a pretty ball to play with. You see a ball of yarn that must be untangled. Something similar about you…like calling to like mayhap.”
“Pain identifies pain. Suffering begets suffering. Suffice it to say, it is something I have a grasp of.”
“You and Susannah have much in common, I suspect. You have the touch of the healer in you, young man. It’s a shame you weren’t a doctor.” She suddenly looked down at her watch pinned to her bosom. “Goodness me! It’s almost four o’clock and I’ve got vegetables to gather. I have enjoyed our visit, Mr. Garrett.”
“Please, call me Reed.”
“If you call me Violette.”
“Very well.”
“Good. Perhaps, when you have been here longer, we can talk more of these things.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but right now, I’d better get this work done.” He picked up the pitchfork and turned toward the ladder.
She watched him go. “Work is a great calmative, is it not? An opiate for the mind, a healer of the body.”
“It is also a way to escape.”
“And it consumes you.”
“Always.”
Violette turned and left the barn, saying softly, “I think you are a man who had much to leave behind.”
From the ladder Reed looked toward the door, but there was no trace of Violette in the doorway, nothing at all of her, save the resonance of her words.
“How wise you are, old woman. How wise and how right,” he said. Then he lost himself in his chores, easing for a time the burden of memories.
Chapter Five
Reed knew that if Susannah had suspected he was down at the creek fishing, she wouldn’t have come for a swim. But she didn’t know, and by the time she discovered it, she had already stumbled on him sitting quietly on the bank, cork bobbing in the water, his
“I have a feeling you’ve stored up a lot of memories, just like I’m storing that hay,” Reed said, not knowing what possessed him to make such a remark.
“Yes,” she said, “it is sweet to remember. You know, looking back now, it seems as though all my recollections are set to music, even those that were hard to bear. At this point in my life, memories are my fondest possession.”
“Life has been good to you.”
“Oh yes, I’ve had a good time of it, and few regrets. How fortunate I am to have the memories, to be able to live the good times twice.”
From somewhere outside the barn came the sound of Susannah’s voice. She was calling Miss Lavender with a musical lilt to the sweet promise of tasty slops.
In response, Miss Lavender went into an oinking frenzy.
Susannah’s laughter was seductive as hell. It made him want to go to her, to see if the promise in her laugh was, in fact, reality.
He stared toward the open door, envisioning how she must look at this moment. He wondered during their first meeting if she ever laughed; now he’d learned she did, but would she do so in his presence? Would he see her eyes light up at the sight of him? What good times would Susannah remember when she was Violette’s age?
Violette broke into his trance of preoccupation with Susannah. “You are wondering about her memories?”
“Perceptive, aren’t you?”
“It’s an old woman’s advantage. Tell me, what were you thinking of in regard to my niece?”
“As you guessed, I was thinking about her memories—or lack of them, as it would appear. Although I’ve only been here a short while, she doesn’t seem to have much of a life, aside from this farm and the two of you.”
An expression of deep and profound sadness crept over Violette’s face, but it lingered for only a moment until she was able to push it away. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! I had you pegged right. I knew you were a sensitive man the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re not the first man to notice my niece by any means, but you are the first to see past the external beauty. I think you are more attracted to what’s inside that girl. Most men look at her and see a pretty ball to play with. You see a ball of yarn that must be untangled. Something similar about you…like calling to like mayhap.”
“Pain identifies pain. Suffering begets suffering. Suffice it to say, it is something I have a grasp of.”
“You and Susannah have much in common, I suspect. You have the touch of the healer in you, young man. It’s a shame you weren’t a doctor.” She suddenly looked down at her watch pinned to her bosom. “Goodness me! It’s almost four o’clock and I’ve got vegetables to gather. I have enjoyed our visit, Mr. Garrett.”
“Please, call me Reed.”
“If you call me Violette.”
“Very well.”
“Good. Perhaps, when you have been here longer, we can talk more of these things.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but right now, I’d better get this work done.” He picked up the pitchfork and turned toward the ladder.
She watched him go. “Work is a great calmative, is it not? An opiate for the mind, a healer of the body.”
“It is also a way to escape.”
“And it consumes you.”
“Always.”
Violette turned and left the barn, saying softly, “I think you are a man who had much to leave behind.”
From the ladder Reed looked toward the door, but there was no trace of Violette in the doorway, nothing at all of her, save the resonance of her words.
“How wise you are, old woman. How wise and how right,” he said. Then he lost himself in his chores, easing for a time the burden of memories.
Chapter Five
Reed knew that if Susannah had suspected he was down at the creek fishing, she wouldn’t have come for a swim. But she didn’t know, and by the time she discovered it, she had already stumbled on him sitting quietly on the bank, cork bobbing in the water, his
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