Page 1 of Songs and Spun Gold
PROLOGUE
Katy
Hello? Anybody home?” a voice called from downstairs.
Abandoning the tattered book she had been studying, Katy dashed for the doorway. She heard her mother calling after her to slow down, but it wasn’t the first time she had raced from their living space to help a customer. She was eleven years old, and she took her responsibilities seriously.
Somebody had to; the heavens knew her father didn’t.
Flinging aside the blanket that served as a door, she reduced her pace to a stately walk as she entered the front room. The clatter of her arrival had been painfully obvious, but if she was lucky, the handsome thirteen-year-old waiting for her would think it was the normal noise of the mill.
“Good morning, Katy,” he greeted her as he turned from the small window. “How is the flour business?”
Dropping into a curtsy, she bowed her head so he couldn’t see her silly grin. He likely knew everyone’s name, but it made her deliriously happy that he remembered hers. “Good morning.”
“There’s no need for that, Katy,” the young man admonished lightly, a laugh in his deepening voice. “I don’t need bowing and scraping all the way out here.”
She released the rough wool of her skirt and met his warm brown eyes. The light brown skin around them crinkled withhis smile.Such a wonderful smile, she thought wistfully. If she could see his smile every day, it wouldn’t be often enough. As it was, she looked forward to his monthly trips to the area if for no other reason than to bask in the sunshine of—
“Katy?” he prompted.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, cursing the heat that flooded her cheeks in her embarrassment. “I was simply—never mind. What can I do for you this morning?”
He mashed his lips together, but the corners curved up anyway, and his eyes danced. “I was simply bringing in the flour order. Can someone pick it up tomorrow?”
“The usual amount?” she asked. When he nodded, she furrowed her brow, mentally reviewing the bags stacked in the back and the barrels of wheat waiting to be ground. Factoring in other expected purchases… “Yes, that will be fine. We’ll have it ready when the cart arrives.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Instead of leaving, he leaned against the stone wall and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He was taller than he had been the previous month, she was sure of it, but his clothes fit as well as they ever had. That wasn’t the case for the village boys his age.
She tried not to focus on the way the breeze through the open window fluttered his short, dark brown locks or the fairy sparkles of the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam around his face. She was probably only imagining the second part, anyway.
“So, how have you been, Katy?” he asked lazily. “Still trying to run the entire mill by yourself?”
Chuckling, Katy fiddled with a pen that had been left lying on the tall, wooden counter. “I will admit, I look forward to the day when my sisters will be old enough to help.”
His merry eyes twinkled. “Can’t wait to be done dealing with me, huh?” he teased. Katy felt heat rising to her cheeks oncemore and tucked a loose strand of curly hair behind her ear in a feeble attempt to hide her face with her hand.
“No, of course not,” she replied. “Seeing you is—”
She stopped herself before she could say anything revealing. Unfortunately, based on the way his lips were twitching, she had said too much already.
“How is your mother doing?” the young man inquired, taking pity on her and changing the subject.
Katy hesitated. “Better than yesterday, I think.”
Her visitor narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, examining her. “Better than yesterday? Does that mean she’s ill again?”
“It’s just a summer cold,” Katy hurried to assure him. Him, or herself? “She’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Is there anything I could get you to help her?”
Katy wanted to read into his concerned interest, but she knew that would be foolish. “No, I couldn’t let you do that. But thank you very much for the kind offer.” She bobbed another small curtsy.
He frowned at her. “I thought I told you to skip the curtsies.”
She cleared her throat as she desperately searched for a different direction for the conversation. “How is your sister doing?”
