Free Bluebells on the Hill by Barbara McMahon Page A

and would probably stand without much
change.
    She had begun another song, a couple more
ideas buzzed around in her head. Pleased she was again finding
composing possible, she wrote phrases and music in bits and pieces.
Soon she'd put it together, see how they went together.
    It was a joy to write. Many of her biggest
hits had been her own songs. She knew best how to write for
herself. Trying the different melodies, searching for just the
right word or phrase was challenging, something put aside in the
relentless schedule of recordings and concert tours of recent
years. She was pleased at the way the songs had come to her, how
she could put them on paper so fast. As she relaxed, more would
come, she knew it.
    While not seriously planning to strike it
rich, Amanda continued to pan for gold each day. It was a soothing,
restful occupation, one that permitted time for thinking or
dreaming. She'd take her pan and a small glass vial and spend hours
washing endless buckets of sand from the water. There were already
several bits and flakes in the vial. She thought they might be
gold, but would have to have it checked by someone more
knowledgeable than she was. Time enough for that at the end of the
summer. For now, she was content to think it was gold; and to
continue her search.
    The water ran cold but, if she often went
during the hottest part of the day, it was refreshing to splash on
herself as she toiled in the sun, sloshing, twirling, and swirling
the sand and gravel from the creek bed in her black pan. Peering
closely as the heavy sediment settled to the bottom. Were there
more gold flakes this time? No matter, maybe in the next pan.
    On Thursday morning Amanda was ready to go to
town before ten. Not knowing precisely when Mac meant to go, she
was ready and waiting on her deck so as not to keep him waiting. No
need to aggravate the man. He was already quick with disapproval.
She wished she hadn't had to ask for his assistance, but it beat
walking. Surely he wouldn't feel she was imposing if he were going
down to town anyway? If he did, she knew he would have no
hesitation in telling her unequivocally.
    The drone of the truck became audible,
gradually growing in volume, until the truck drove into view.
Turning into her track, Mac stopped near the deck.
    Amanda hurried down and climbed in.
    'Hi.' She smiled.
    He nodded. 'Morning.' They were off.
    The post office did not have any packages for
Mandy Smith in general delivery, nor any other mail. She was
disappointed as she turned and slowly walked back out. Had Dave not
yet sent it? Had the mail been delayed? Or had he sent it to the
wrong town? Surely he had heard her correctly on the phone.
    Still having quite a bit of time before Mac
was returning, Amanda walked through the town to the only phone she
was sure of. She smiled at passers by, murmuring greetings to those
that spoke to her. Feeling more and more a part of Timber, she was
pleased no one appeared stand-offish. In time, she would learn
names and faces and really belong.
    Reaching the phone booth, she dialed the
familiar number. It rang and rang; no one answered. Impatiently,
Amanda tapped her finger against the receiver, but still the phone
rang on. Hanging up in frustration, she started back towards the
truck. What a wasted trip all around.
    'Get all you wanted?' Mac was waiting,
standing by the front of the truck, his hat tipped forward on his
forehead.
    'No. None of it, in fact. I was expecting a
package; nothing yet. Are you ready to go?'
    'Just about. I want to pick up a few things
at the grocery store. Won't be long.'
    'I'll go with you. I could use a few
things.'
    She fell into step as he walked. She had to
walk fast to keep up with his longer stride. Once she almost
stopped to let him go on ahead and follow at her own pace. But the
distance was short, the market already in sight.
    Her few things filled two bags. When Mac
lifted them into the truck, he commented on them.
    'Only a few things, eh? What's your