Free The Mill River Recluse by Darcie Chan Page A

the farmer’s face confirmed his suspicion.
    “She’s too nervous, isn’t she?” Patrick asked before Mr. Hayes could say anything.
    “Well, you know how she is,” he replied. “When she freezes up like she does, I jus’ don’ know what to do. I tried to talk her into comin’ down, but I don’ believe she will.”
    “Perhaps I could go up?” Patrick offered. “Maybe if I talk with her a little, reassure her, she might relax.”
    “That’s good of you, Patrick, but I don’ think it would do any good. She’s pretty upset. I asked her to go tonight, but....” Mr. Hayes’s voice trailed off, and he and Patrick stood awkwardly in the old living room.
    Patrick struggled to mask his frustration. “Well, please, tell Mary that I’m sorry she couldn’t make it this evening,” he said as he turned to leave. “I’ll try to come out to visit after work one night this week, and--”
    The wooden stairs were creaking behind him. Mary stepped hesitantly into the light of the living room. She stopped on the bottom step and faced him, trembling and clutching a dainty black pocketbook. There was no color in her face.
    “Mary,” he said. He would have an opportunity to work on the first obstacle after all. He rushed over to her, took both of her hands in his. “Your father said you weren’t feeling well. Do you think you’re up to this evening?”
    “I suppose so,” Mary replied, looking up at him. Only then did she realize he was holding her hands, and she blushed. She glanced over at her father, but he was smiling with approval.
    “We won’t be out late. Don’t worry,” Patrick told Mary and Mr. Hayes. “But we should be going. Mother’s expecting us by six-thirty.”
    Mary felt herself cringe when Patrick mentioned meeting his mother, but she allowed him to take her arm and lead her to the door. Her father patted her on the shoulder as she left.
    “You two have a good time,” Mr. Hayes called to them as they headed down to the car.
    Patrick opened the passenger side door of the Lincoln for Mary, then ran around to the other side and got in himself. Mary occasionally rode into Mill River with her father in their old truck, but riding in the Lincoln was a completely new experience. The smooth hum of the engine was nothing like the rough idle of the pickup. The tan leather seat was buttery-soft, and it cradled her. Mary folded her hands over her pocketbook in her lap, afraid to touch anything lest she leave a smudge on the polished interior of the car.
    Patrick smiled down at her. She was sitting calmly, but her face betrayed the anxiety she felt. She continually looked out the window of the car. Mary reminded him of a little bluebird, perched and ready to fly away. Not this evening, not ever , he thought.
    They were a few miles outside Rutland when Mary started to shake uncontrollably. She faced forward in her seat and whispered to him.
    “Patrick, I can’t do this. Please go back. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
    Patrick reached over and placed his right hand over both of hers. At the same time, he stepped more firmly on the accelerator.
    “Mary, please try to relax. It’s only my family, and I’m sure they’ll like you.”
    “Can’t go, please stop, I’m going to be sick—” She pulled one of her hands free of his and clutched at the passenger’s side window.
    “Mary, we’re almost there. Take a few deep breaths. You have nothing to fear from this evening. It’s only dinner, and I’ll have you home before you know it. Do you trust me?”
    She was curled against the door, whimpering. Patrick focused on keeping his voice calm.
    “You’ll be with me. If you start to feel anxious, squeeze my arm, and we’ll try to get away for a few minutes until you feel better.”
    Mary’s cries quieted a little as she listened.
    “That’s better. I won’t leave your side, I promise,” he said, gently rubbing her hand.
    Mary remained silent as they drove into the city of Rutland. Patrick