Is everything okay with the one who moved away?”
“Juliana’s fine.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Better than fine, actually. Ecstatic. I’m thrilled for her. It’s just that so much has changed the past few weeks.”
Her expression turned pensive. “Yes, I can imagine it’s a lot to take in.”
Certain she was thinking of his canceled wedding and not at all interested in going down that path, he resumed his post and picked up his rod.
Indicating his empty pail, he said, “I was hoping to have trout for supper, but so far the fish aren’t obliging.”
A ghost of a smile gracing her mouth, she surveyed the pebble-strewn stream and dense forest spreading out around them. It was quiet here. Restful. Nothing but the trickle of water and the rustle of leaves overhead.
“There’s something magical about this place,” she said, her voice hushed. “It’s so beautiful it almost defies description.”
With the onset of fall, the leaves were already beginning to thin out. “You should see it in spring and summer. The greenery is so thick you feel like you’re the only creature for miles around, save the birds and squirrels.”
Her gaze settled on his. “I’d like that.”
He hadn’t meant it as an invitation. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. Kate seemed nice enough. But she didn’t fit in here. And although the physical similarity wasn’t there, in his mind he’d never be able to separate her from Francesca and her heartless betrayal.
He pointed to the box. “What do you have there?”
“My camera.”
Crouching down, she flipped open the lid and lifted it out. Made of polished cherrywood with brass fittings, black accordion-like material in between the two ends, it appeared to be an expensive piece of equipment. “Would you mind if I took a photograph of you?”
“What? Now?” He wasn’t primped and primed for a portrait. Far from it.
“Yes, now.” She stood. “Not every photo has to be staged in a studio.”
“But I’m not dressed—”
“You look fine.” Her gaze flicked over his shirt and trousers. “Natural. I wouldn’t expect you to be fishing in a three-piece suit, and neither would anyone else.” She paused in sliding a piece of square coated glass into the camera. “If you’d rather not, I understand. I don’t want to make you uneasy.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Great.” Her wide smile elicited one of his own. “I’m going across.”
There was a natural bridge to the other side, a mound of earth and rocks she crossed without incident. When she was directly across from him, he said, “I thought photographers had to travel with portable darkrooms.” The stream wasn’t all that wide, so he didn’t have to raise his voice.
“Not with the invention of the dry plate.” She steadied the stand before placing the camera on top. “The image is fixed and doesn’t have to be processed right away.”
“I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“That’s because they’ve only recently been manufactured for widespread sale. Okay, look directly at me. And sit as still as possible.” Peering into the camera, she removed the cover and waited for a full minute before replacing it. Straightening, she seemed pleased. “That’s going to be a good one, I think.”
Crossing back over, she was replacing the camera in its box when he spoke.
“Tell me about Francesca’s husband.”
Her hands stilled. She looked uncertain.
“I don’t even know her married name,” he persisted.
“His name is Percy Johnson.”
“Francesca Johnson. I think Francesca O’Malley has a nicer ring to it, but that’s just my opinion.”
Her mouth flattened. “I’m sorry.”
“I know he’s not a common laborer, like me. What does he do? Or rather, what does his family do? He probably hasn’t worked a day in his life.” He couldn’t disguise the bitterness in his voice.
I’m sorry, God. I can’t help envying the guy. He got the girl, and I’m left here to
“Juliana’s fine.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Better than fine, actually. Ecstatic. I’m thrilled for her. It’s just that so much has changed the past few weeks.”
Her expression turned pensive. “Yes, I can imagine it’s a lot to take in.”
Certain she was thinking of his canceled wedding and not at all interested in going down that path, he resumed his post and picked up his rod.
Indicating his empty pail, he said, “I was hoping to have trout for supper, but so far the fish aren’t obliging.”
A ghost of a smile gracing her mouth, she surveyed the pebble-strewn stream and dense forest spreading out around them. It was quiet here. Restful. Nothing but the trickle of water and the rustle of leaves overhead.
“There’s something magical about this place,” she said, her voice hushed. “It’s so beautiful it almost defies description.”
With the onset of fall, the leaves were already beginning to thin out. “You should see it in spring and summer. The greenery is so thick you feel like you’re the only creature for miles around, save the birds and squirrels.”
Her gaze settled on his. “I’d like that.”
He hadn’t meant it as an invitation. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. Kate seemed nice enough. But she didn’t fit in here. And although the physical similarity wasn’t there, in his mind he’d never be able to separate her from Francesca and her heartless betrayal.
He pointed to the box. “What do you have there?”
“My camera.”
Crouching down, she flipped open the lid and lifted it out. Made of polished cherrywood with brass fittings, black accordion-like material in between the two ends, it appeared to be an expensive piece of equipment. “Would you mind if I took a photograph of you?”
“What? Now?” He wasn’t primped and primed for a portrait. Far from it.
“Yes, now.” She stood. “Not every photo has to be staged in a studio.”
“But I’m not dressed—”
“You look fine.” Her gaze flicked over his shirt and trousers. “Natural. I wouldn’t expect you to be fishing in a three-piece suit, and neither would anyone else.” She paused in sliding a piece of square coated glass into the camera. “If you’d rather not, I understand. I don’t want to make you uneasy.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Great.” Her wide smile elicited one of his own. “I’m going across.”
There was a natural bridge to the other side, a mound of earth and rocks she crossed without incident. When she was directly across from him, he said, “I thought photographers had to travel with portable darkrooms.” The stream wasn’t all that wide, so he didn’t have to raise his voice.
“Not with the invention of the dry plate.” She steadied the stand before placing the camera on top. “The image is fixed and doesn’t have to be processed right away.”
“I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“That’s because they’ve only recently been manufactured for widespread sale. Okay, look directly at me. And sit as still as possible.” Peering into the camera, she removed the cover and waited for a full minute before replacing it. Straightening, she seemed pleased. “That’s going to be a good one, I think.”
Crossing back over, she was replacing the camera in its box when he spoke.
“Tell me about Francesca’s husband.”
Her hands stilled. She looked uncertain.
“I don’t even know her married name,” he persisted.
“His name is Percy Johnson.”
“Francesca Johnson. I think Francesca O’Malley has a nicer ring to it, but that’s just my opinion.”
Her mouth flattened. “I’m sorry.”
“I know he’s not a common laborer, like me. What does he do? Or rather, what does his family do? He probably hasn’t worked a day in his life.” He couldn’t disguise the bitterness in his voice.
I’m sorry, God. I can’t help envying the guy. He got the girl, and I’m left here to
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