Page 19 of If The Fates Allow
Several feet ahead, Lucy and John walked together, their heads close as they talked.
“Poor Lucy has probably learned more about pigs than she ever wanted to know,” Willa whispered. “I might not be able to breathe correctly, but she has a weak stomach.”
Noah tried to hide his grin but was doing a horrible job of it. “I’ve always found this trail to be lovely.”
Willa rolled her eyes. Since the four of them stepped out onto Haven’s porch, and Noah insisted she walk with him so he could study her breathing patterns, it had been one casual remark about nature after another.
“It’s a wonder there’s not more wildlife around, but I suppose the mills keep them away.”
“Oh, will you stop,” she hissed, only making his grin grow. “You don’t give a flip about trees or animals.”
“Not true, Ms. Fairweather.” Noah schooled his features, suddenly taking a serious tone. “I’m quite fond of goats.”
“You’re a beast unto yourself,Dr. Anderson.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Lucy glanced back at them. “Is it much farther, Noah?”
Noah aimed a smile at her sister, and Willa did the same, not wanting anyone to know she was plotting the murder of a certain physician. “Just around the bend,” he called out to her. “Two more curves on the trail, and we should be there.”
They were walking the half-mile eastern path toward the building Noah was planning to use as a clinic. He claimed he wanted Willa to know where to find him if she ever needed him.
“Are you at all winded?” he asked softly. “We can slow down and allow them to go ahead.”
“I’m doing well and thankful to be out of the house.”
And she truly was enjoying the late afternoon sun. Gathering her embroidered cashmere shawl around her shoulders, she thought that perhaps they could visit the satsuma grove behind Haven once they finished at Noah's cottage.
Thinking of the grove, Willa remembered she wanted to ask Bonnie if anyone had warned the Port Michaelson girls about the manchineel trees growing along the water near the mill. They wouldn’t want them to be taking a walk through the trails and accidentally mistake a manchineel for an apple.
“How often are you able to get fresh air?” Noah asked.
A group of birds flitted about overhead in the canopy, and she smiled wistfully at the sign of life. The cover of trees here was not as thick as the one over the trails leading to their mill and family graveyard.
“The air around Haven House is hardly ever fresh, thanks to the mills,” she replied. “I do better without the damp air, so I would say I can roam freely outdoors for about two months out of the year.”
“You deserve the sun every single day of your life, Willa.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but shook his head. “I want you to be able to get out more.”
He felt sorry for her, which was a shame because she had stopped feeling sorry for herself long ago. A single human could only live withso much regret before it began to eat away at their soul. “I am thankful for days like today. Others who suffer with my condition have it far worse, or so I hear.”
“Some do, but they tend to change the environmental aspects that cause them to fall into attacks.”
“What do you mean?”
Slowing their pace, Noah kept his gaze trained on the back of Lucy and John’s heads. “If a goat is causing you to be unable to breathe, what would you do with the goat?”
“Get rid of it.”
“Exactly. You have too many goats in your world.”
“Goats?”
“Yes, goats.”
Willa wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Dr. Anderson.”
“Get rid of the goats,” he grated, with an annoyed growl in his tone. “And will you please start calling me Noah?”
