And, too, he was willing to go back out to Rock Creek Road and work for Eleanor Dinsmore even after the pernicious twaddle spewed by Lula Peak. Gladys had heard enough to know what that harlot was trying to do-how could anyone have missed it in this echoing vault of a building? And more power to Will Parker for turning his back on that hussy. Gladys had never been able to understand what people got out of spreading destructive gossip. Poor Eleanor had never been given a fair shake by the people of this town, to say nothing of her own family. Her grandmother, Lottie McCallaster, had always been eccentric, a religious fanatic who attended every tent revival within fifty miles of Whitney. She was said to have fallen to her knees and rolled in the throes of her religious conviction, and it was well known she got baptized every time a traveling salvation man called for sinners to become washed in the Blood. She’d finally nabbed herself a self-proclaimed man of God, a fire-and-brimstone preacher named Albert See who’d married her, gotten her in a family way, installed her in a house at the edge of town and gone on circuit, leaving her to raise her daughter, Chloe, chiefly alone.

Chloe had been a silent wraith of a girl, with eyes as large as horse chestnuts, dominated by Lottie, subjected to her fanaticism. How a girl like that, who was scarcely ever out of her mother’s scrutiny, had managed to get pregnant remained a mystery. Yet she had. And afterward, Lottie had never shown her face again, nor allowed Chloe to, or the child, Eleanor, until the truant officer had forced them to let her out to attend school, threatening to have the child legally removed to a foster home unless they complied.

What the town librarian remembered best about Eleanor as a child was her awe of the spacious library, and of her freedom to move through it without reprimand, and how she would stand in the generous fanlight windows with the sun pouring in, absorbing it as if she could never get enough. And who could blame her-poor thing?

Gladys Beasley wasn’t an overly imaginative woman, but even so, she shuddered at the thought of what life must have been like for the poor bastard child, Eleanor, living in that house behind the green shades, like one buried alive.

She’d almost be willing to give Will Parker a borrower’s card on the strength of his befriending Eleanor alone, now that she knew of it. And when she marched back to nonfiction and found a biography of Beethoven lying on a table, but "Bees" and "Apples" tucked flush in their slots, she knew she’d judged Will Parker correctly.

Chapter 7

Calvin Purdy bought the eggs at twenty-four cents a dozen. The money belonged to Mrs. Dinsmore, but Will had nine dollars of his own buttoned safely into his breast pocket. He touched it-hard and reassuring behind the blue chambray-and thought of taking something to her. Just because people called her crazy and she wasn’t. Just because she’d been locked inside some house most of her life. And because they’d had words before he left. But what should he take? She wasn’t the perfume type. And anyway, perfume seemed too personal. He’d heard that men bought ribbons for ladies, but he’d feel silly walking up to Purdy and asking him to cut a length of yellow silk ribbon to match her yellow maternity dress. Candy? Food made Eleanor sick. She pecked like a sparrow, hardly ate a thing.

In the end he chose a small figurine of a bluebird, gaily painted. She liked birds, and there wasn’t much around her house in the way of decorations. The bluebird cost him twenty-nine cents, and he spent an additional dime on two chocolate bars for the boys. Pocketing his change, he felt a keen exhilaration to get home.

On his way out of town he passed the house with the tilting picket fence surrounding it like the decaying ribs of a dead animal. He stopped to stare, involuntarily fascinated by the derelict appearance of the place, the grass choking the front steps, the rangy morning glories tangling around the doorknob and up a rickety trellis on the front stoop. Tattered green shades covered the windows, their bottoms shredded into ribbons. Gazing at them, he shivered, yet was tempted to investigate closer, to peek inside. But the shades seemed to warn him away.

They’d locked her in? And pulled down the shades? A woman like Eleanor, who loved birds and katydids and the sky and the orchard? Again Will shivered and hurried on with his cargo of two chocolate bars and a glass bluebird, wishing he could have bought her more. It was a curious feeling for a man to whom gift-giving was foreign. The exchange of gifts implied that a person had both friends and money, but Will had seldom known both at once. Though he’d often imagined how exciting it would be to get gifts, he’d never expected this exhilaration at giving them. But now that he knew about Eleanor Dinsmore’s past, he felt provoked by a great impatience to make reparation for the kindness she’d been robbed of as a child.

Would she still be peeved at him? An unexpected ripple of disquiet swept through him at the thought. He stalked along, studying the ground. The wagon rattled behind him. How do a man and woman learn to make up their differences? At thirty years old, Will didn’t know, but it suddenly became vital that he learn. Always before, if a woman harassed him, he moved on. This was different, Eleanor Dinsmore was different. She was a good mother, a fine woman who’d been locked in a house and called crazy, and if he didn’t tell her she wasn’t, who would?


Eleanor had been miserable ever since Will left. She’d been churlish and snappy with him and he’d been gone nearly three hours on a trip that should have taken only half that time and she was sure he wasn’t coming back. It’s your own fault, Elly. You can’t treat a free man that way and expect him to come back for more.

She put supper on to cook and looked out the back door every three minutes. No Will. She put on a clean dress and combed her hair, twisting it tight and neat on her head. She studied her wide, disturbed eyes in the small mirror on the kitchen shelf, thinking of his face trimmed with shaving lather. He ain’t comin’ back, fool. He’s ten miles in the other direction by now and how you gonna like choppin’ that wood in the morning? And how you gonna like mealtimes lookin’ at his empty chair? And talkin’ to nobody but the boys? Closing her eyes, she wrapped her fists around one another and pressed them to her mouth. I need you, Parker. Please come back.


As Will hurried up the rutted driveway he heard his own heart drumming in his ears. Reaching the edge of the clearing, his footsteps faltered: she was waiting on the porch. Waiting for him, Will Parker. Dressed in her yellow outfit with her hair freshly combed, the boys romping at her ankles and the smell of supper drifting clear across the yard. She raised a hand and waved. "What took you so long? I was worried."

Not only waiting, but worried. A burst of elation ricocheted through his body as he smiled and stretched his stride.

"Studying takes time."

"Will!" Donald Wade came running. "Hey, Will!" He collided with Will’s knees and clung, head back and hair hanging, making the welcome complete. Will roughed the boy’s silky hair.

"Hi, short stuff. How’s things around here?"

"Everything’s peachy." He fell into step beside Will, helping to pull the wagon.

"What’d you do while I was gone?"

"Mama made me take a nap." Donald Wade made a distasteful face.

"A nap, huh?" Reaching the bottom of the porch steps, Will dropped the wagon handle and lifted his eyes to the woman above him. "Did she take one with you?"

"No. She took a bath in the washtub."

"Donald Wade, you hush now, you hear?" Eleanor chided, her cheeks turning suspiciously bright. Then, to Will, "How’d you do?"

"Did good." He handed her the money. "Miss Beasley at the library took one dozen eggs for twenty-five cents, and I sold the rest to Calvin Purdy for twenty-four cents a dozen. It’s all there, a dollar twenty-one. Miss Beasley said to tell you hello."

"She did?" Eleanor’s palm hung in midair, the money forgotten.

"Said she remembers you comin’ in with Miss Buttry’s fifth grade class or Miss Natwick’s sixth."

"Well, imagine that." Her smile was all amazement and wide eyes. "Who’d have thought she’d remember me?"

"She did, though."

"I never even thought she knew my name."

Will grinned. "Don’t think there’s much that woman doesn’t know."

Eleanor laughed, remembering the librarian.

"I’ll bet it was pretty in the library, wasn’t it?"

"Sure was. Bright." Will gestured in the air. "With big windows, rounded at the top. Smelled good, too."

"Did you get your card?"

"Couldn’t. Not without you. Miss Beasley says you’ll have to verify that I work for you."

"You mean go in there?" The animation left Elly’s face and her voice quieted. "Oh, I don’t think I could do that."

Yesterday he’d have asked why. Today he only replied, "You can write a note. She said that’d be okay and I can bring it next time I go in. Have to go in next week again. Miss Beasley said she’ll want another dozen eggs."

"She did?" Eleanor’s elation returned as quickly as it had fled.

"That’s right. And, you know, I was thinking." Will tipped his hat brim back, hooked one boot on the bottom step and braced a hand on the knee. "If you were to pack the extra cream in pint jars I think I could sell it, too. Make a little extra."

She couldn’t resist teasing, "You gonna turn into one of those men who loves money, Mr. Parker?"

He knew full well there was more than teasing behind the remark-there was her very real aversion to town. A recluse, Miss Beasley had called her. Was she really? To the point of avoiding contact with people even if it meant making money? She hadn’t even bothered to count what he’d handed her. He supposed this was something they’d have to work out eventually. "No, ma’am." He withdrew his boot from the step. "It’s just that I don’t see any sense in losing the opportunity to make it."