Page 59 of The Formation of Us
The boys both groaned and tried to save their father by tugging him away. Rebecca laughed and cuffed William in the head as she sprinted toward the tree.
That’s when she saw Adam.
She gave him a cheerful wave, but Adam was too stunned to return her greeting. He didn’t know a father wrestled with his sons and tickled his daughter and kissed his wife in the middle of the yard.
Rebecca trotted to the fence. “Thank you for the gift,” she said, her face glowing with happiness.
Gift? Adam had tucked a note in the stone fence for her two days ago, but he hadn’t been sure she would remember to look for one. She had suggested it the last time he’d walked her to school. But the note sure seemed to make her happy.
Rebecca’s father was walking straight toward them with a look on his face that made Adam’s stomach queasy. “I’d better go,” he said, pushing off the fence. “I’ll leave another note when I can.”
“Mama made some sweet tea this morning. Can you stay for a glass?”
He shook his head. The cool look in her father’s eyes told him that he wasn’t welcome.
Mr. Grayson put his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Your mother needs help getting lunch on the table,” he said.
Rebecca’s brows pinched in confusion, but she could only cast a worried glance at Adam before dashing into the house. Mr. Grayson sat on the fence, his manner friendly, his eyes suspicious.
“Adam, you seem like a nice young man, but Rebecca is too young for courting.”
“COURTing?” Adam cleared his throat. “We’re just friends, sir.”
“A friend doesn’t leave an expensive parasol on the doorstep.”
Adam shook his head. “Sir, I haven’t given Rebecca any gifts.”
“Did you not leave that parasol on our doorstep for her?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Grayson nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “Rebecca is too young to keep company with you, Adam.”
In other words, stay away from my daughter. Adam got the message. Mr. Grayson was judging him unfairly, assuming the worst, and it made Adam want to yell at the top of his lungs so the whole world would know he wasnota bad person. But he clamped his teeth against his anger, gave Rebecca’s judgmental father a curt nod, and walked away.
Nicholas Archer was coming down the road, and shouted to him, but Adam sprinted across the apple orchard to escape the boy. He didn’t need two beatings today.
The sheriff’s place was the next house up the road, and Adam was burning with anger when he banged on the door.
The sheriff answered, thrust a fishing rod into Adam’s hand, then lifted a wicker hamper off the floor. “Let’s go hook some bass.” He pulled the door closed behind him, and they headed across the back yard.
Adam trudged alongside the sheriff as they crossed a field of shin-high grass and sprawling maple trees with lime-green leaves. Birch, pine, oak, and ash trees hugged the path that cut down into the gorge. Robins and swallows swooped overhead, twittering and singing. Small animals rustled beneath the ferns and sumac bushes, and the burbling sound of water grew louder as they descended into the gorge.
“My boat is over here,” the sheriff said, pointing to a cluster of towering pine trees. He set the basket on the grass, ducked beneath the low branches, and disappeared from sight. “Put the rod by the basket and come give me a hand.”
Adam laid the rod aside and ducked beneath the drooping limbs of the pine tree. He found the sheriff standing in a small, shadowy cathedral in the center of the trees. Sunlight shot down in beams from the towering tops of the trees to the thick cushion of pine needles beneath his feet. The scent of pine was heavy and fragrant, and Adam knew he’d never been in a more magical place. “This is . . . I don’t even know how to explain it,” he whispered.
The sheriff grinned. “It keeps my boat hidden so it doesn’t tempt anyone to paddle themselves into a dangerous situation.”
“I could live here.”
The sheriff laughed, but Adam was serious. It felt safe here.
They carried the boat twenty feet to the creek. Adam ran back for the basket and rod, then gingerly stepped into the boat. The sheriff used the oars to push them away from the bank, then worked the paddles with long, dragging strokes that propelled them north on Canadaway Creek.
