Page 46 of Hearts of Briarwall

After some minutes on a path winding around the pond where small fish jumped at morning insects, they approached the woods.

“I thought you wanted to hear my proposal,” he called ahead to Lydia.

“I shall,” she said, turning her head slightly. “In a moment.”

He fought a grin, considering how such an innocuous answer could be so intriguing. They crossed into the shaded portion of the path where the canopy of trees muted sound and light dappled through from the east. Birdsong and treetops rustling in the breeze met the crunch of their bicycle tires over fallen pine needles and twigs. All was quiet, cool, and sheltered.

They rode down into a gulley, over a plank bridge spanning the small creek that fed the pond, and then up a gradual climb snaking its way slowly up the treed hill.

Spencer remembered this trail from his and Andrew’s riding lessons. The path had been pounded smooth and compact and served the bikes fairly well. He watched Lydia rise to her feet on the pedals, using the downward momentum of her weight to get her bicycle up the last portion of the hill. He shook his head, wishing her figure did not draw his attention so easily.

She cycled well, proving her skill as they came to a severe dip and she remained standing, allowing the bike to take the brunt of the obstacle while she floated through it. She laughed with delight, and he smiled more at her enjoyment than his own.

She paused at the top of the rise, and he drew up alongside her, somewhat out of breath. She, too, breathed deeply, her hand at her waist.

She pointed. “There.”

He followed her direction. The other side of this hill had fewer trees, and they could see farmland spread out in the vale below. But Lydia pointed to the right where the path forked, and instead of going down the hill, they rode along the ridge a short distance to a clearing of felled logs circling a ring of stones—a fire ring. Here Lydia stopped. The vantage point afforded views of both sides of the hill for miles, and the morning sun skimmed across the fields, hills, and estates.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“Picnic Hill. We used to come here—my parents, Andrew, and me. We would have a picnic, of course. One of my very few memories of my parents. Did you ever come here, during your visits with Andrew?”

He shook his head. “Only to ride horseback, and we stayed on the other path.”

She nodded, still looking over the vista. “I’ve come here often since my parents died.”

“Alone?” he asked.

She smirked up at him. “Andrew has kept a tight leash on me outside of Briarwall, but within its boundaries, I’ve more freedom to roam than most girls, I suppose. I’m thankful for that.”

He nodded, looking at the natural beauty about them. “I can see why you’d be grateful.”

They set the bicycles against the trunk of a large oak, and Lydia set to work gathering kindling. “Help me get the fire going. I’m assuming you didn’t eat breakfast.”

“You assume correctly.” It had been too early yet when he’d left the house. He found a pile of cut wood under the boughs of an old pine and collected a few of the dryer logs.

“Well, we shan’t be hungry for long. I raided the pantry and larder.” She deposited her kindling next to the fire ring and brushed her hands. “I’ll leave you to this, and I’ll get the food.”

“As you wish,” he said, watching her stride to the bicycles. At times she reminded him of Andrew with that innate confidence and natural command. He removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “Do you chop the wood yourself, as well?” he asked, grinning, ready to hear her claim command of that chore.

She threw him a glance. “Warren sends someone up here to keep me stocked. I did not ask him to, and he doesn’t tell me, but I know he does it.”

“That is very kind.”

“It is. He could easily go to Andrew and inform on me. But he does not. And for that, I count him a dear friend.”

“I’ll not go to Andrew, either,” he said, brow lifted. “Perhaps you’ll count me as a dear friend, too.”

She grinned. “Perhaps. But Warren has known me since I was a babe.”

“And I have known you since you were not much older than that.”

She paused, as if she’d forgotten that fact, and a flush touched her cheeks. “Well.” She turned her back to him and pulled a paper-wrapped parcel from the hamper. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

He smiled to himself and returned to his assignment.

After the fire had settled, they speared sausages with whittled sticks and roasted them over the flames. Slices of bread, tomatoes, and boiled eggs from the kitchen completed their meal. They washed it down with a thermos of coffee, chatting easily about Briarwall and growing up with Andrew.

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