Free In Search of Sam by Kristin Butcher Page A

stomach was going to do that. I’m so embarrassed.”
    The woman chuckles. “Embarrassed because you’re hungry? Fiddle-faddle. Save that for when your knickers fall around your ankles at a busy bus stop.”
    We both grin.
    â€œThank you,” I say.
    â€œSo what can I do you for, young lady?”
    â€œI was told I could find a room to rent for a few days.”
    She smiles. “And so you can. I charge seventy-five dollars a night. Cash only. That includes breakfast and supper. You’re on your own for lunch.” She glances at my stomach. “Except today. Come in.” She tugs me inside.
    â€œI’m George Washington,” she says, leading me through to the kitchen. She pulls a chair out from the table and gestures for me to sit. “It’s actually Georgina, but the only one who ever called me that was my grandmother. To everyone else, I’ve always been George.” She puts a hand to her heart. “I cannot tell a lie.” Then she doubles over with laughter.
    I nod and smile. “I get it. That’s why the apple tree.”
    She dabs her eyes with the corner of her apron and allows herself a few more chuckles. “If you have a moniker like mine, you have to make the most of it. It should have been a cherry tree,” she shrugs, “but you have to work with what you’ve got. So who might you be?”
    â€œNobody so interesting as you,” I say. “Just plain Dani Lancaster.”
    â€œWell, plain Dani Lancaster, what brings you to Farrow?”
    I tell her. When I’m done, I say, “Did you know Sam?”
    Her eyes get misty. “I did,” she nods. “He was such a sweet little boy. And with those black eyes and dark curly hair, he was a real cutie-pie too. It broke Hannah’s heart to cut those curls. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more thoughtful child — certainly never one as curious. Sam was always asking questions. Would the grass grow forever if you didn’t cut it? How high is up? Where does the sun go at night? He needed to know everything. God bless me, but that boy could drive a body to distraction with all his questions. Not John and Hannah, though. They had the patience of Job. When Sam asked a question, they answered it. For them the sun rose and set on that child.”
    â€œThe Swans never told anyone the truth about how Sam came to live with them?”
    George shakes her head. “Not a word. As far as anybody knew, Sam was their niece’s son.”
    â€œGeorge,” I say, “were there any pregnant girls in Farrow at that time?”
    She nods. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there was. One.”
    I lean forward hopefully. “There was? Who?”
    She stirs a pot on the stove. “Me.” Then she adds quickly, “But I’m not Sam’s mother. I had a son when Sam was about a month old. And I kept him. Biggest mistake of my life. His name is Sebastien, and let me tell you, his name is the only good thing about him. He cleaned out my bank account two years ago, and I haven’t seen him since. Here’s hoping my luck holds.”

Chapter Ten
    On Friday morning, I drive to Merritt. I need money to pay for my room at The Apple Tree, and I also need some cash in case I want to buy something at Saturday’s bazaar. As I wait in line for my turn at the ATM, a poster tacked to a bulletin board catches my eye. It’s the same as the one at the community hall — the one advertising the bazaar. I’m surprised. I didn’t realize Farrow’s reach extended beyond the town’s borders.
    It’s nearing noon when I finish my business, so I decide to grab something to eat before heading back. As I push open the door to a coffee shop, I spy another poster in the front window. When I pop into a drugstore for shampoo, there’s one there too.
    On my return drive, I see a huge sign that says 64th Annual Spring Bazaar in