Free The Hunter's Prey by Diane Whiteside

great-grandfather at church the following Sunday. You know that part of the story, how he’d come down to help his cousin rebuild, how I walked out with him as soon as he asked. I knew what I wanted as soon as I saw him. I knew he brought the deep springs of life to set roots in.”
    The phone’s peremptory squall broke their peace. Mary bolted upright and then froze. She stared at Elizabeth, frozen by equal parts of hope and doubt. Elizabeth released her to act.
    “Would you answer that for me, honey? It might be a call for you…”
    Mary ran inside, slamming the door against the wall in her haste. Elizabeth listened unabashedly to the one-sided conversation, which quickly brought her hands up in gladness.
    “Joe’s alive! Thanks be to the Almighty, he’s coming back to Mary,” Elizabeth praised and bent her head to give thanks.  
    Mary came out of the house a few minutes after she’d hung up. Her face was streaming with tears, shining like the roses in the garden under the storm.  
    “Did you hear, Gran? Joe’s coming home,” Mary whispered, her voice breaking on the words. She gulped and then dropped to her knees in front of Elizabeth.  
    Elizabeth stroked the shining hair lovingly.
    “That’s all right, Mary; you just go ahead and cry. Sometimes it’s good to remember how life can come back from where it’s hiding in the dark.”  

 
PEPPERMINT CANDY
    A Tale Of Jean-Marie St. Just
     

 
    It feels so good to be back at your house, Joan! I know these banquets are important but high heels always kill my feet. Thanks for the wine; I really appreciate you taking the time to find me some pink wine.
    You’re right: I don’t know who shot J.R. Ewing and I don’t care. Even if that does make me the most out-of-touch person in America! My daughters watch that show every week, which gives me time to read cases.  
    Yup, I do like being a judge and I do like reading the law… And I don’t like giving speeches any more than I ever did, although it’s easier when it’s for a gaggle of female law students.  
    Yes, I’m stalling! But I’ll tell you the real story of how I fell in love with the law.  
    It was back when I first came to Austin from West Texas. I’d grown up in a one-horse town where everyone was either a rancher or the wife, daughter, mother—whatever of a rancher. I was absolutely determined that I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life on a ranch. After some effort, I managed to persuade my Pa to let me go to college if I paid for it. You’ve met him; you can imagine how much persuasion that took!
    Anyway, I got a scholarship and made it to the University three days after my eighteenth birthday. The scholarship didn’t cover everything so I found myself a very cheap boarding house within sight of the Tower. I saved even more money by doing housework for my landlady. There was a lot of work she wanted done, needed to have done.  
    Then I started classes and found out very quickly that my little high school in West Texas might have produced good football players but didn’t begin to provide enough education to keep up with the rest of my class. I began to spend every spare moment at the library, studying like I never had before. Between studying and working for the Landlady From Hell, I barely had time to eat and sleep.
    By the time finals came, I was exhausted and desperate. I had to get an “A” on the final for American history just to pass the class and stay in school. I was at the library so often that it’s a wonder nobody mistook me for a bookcase.  
    I met a really nice guy in the stacks one night when I was looking for a book on the Constitution. He didn’t look like anyone my Pa would object to: my height (yes, that short!), brown hair, blue eyes, slender and taut as a sword, pretty as a girl. He looked only a few years older than me, possibly old enough to be a grad student. He had a French name, Jean-Marie something.  
    We got to talking about my history class