Free Cold River by Liz Adair Page B

head and laughed. “Touché. I’ll tell you what, Dr. Steenburg. I’ll take you up on that talk when you’ve ‘found your feet.’ It shouldn’t take long as you don’t have to look as far as most. I’ll be anxious to hear what you’ve got to say when you know more of what’s going on.” He stood and followed her to the door.
    She consciously took three steps after she was outside before she turned to take her leave. It was a trick she learned years before when she realized she wasn’t going to grow any more. Those three extra steps made it so she didn’t have to crane her neck to look people in the eye. “Thank you again, Mr. Gallant. I’ll be in touch.”
    “Any time.” He raised his hand in farewell and then reached to pull the door closed.
    A light rain had begun to fall, and Mandy hurried to her car. She got in and brushed the droplets off her jacket before starting the engine and turning the heater on high. As she waited for the car to warm up, she glanced in the mirror and was dismayed to see a black streak where her mascara had run and been smeared across her cheek. She took a tissue from her purse and did her best to rub it off, trying to remember how long she had been talking with a dirty face.
    She took out her planner and read again the directions to the home of the third school board member. She repeated them aloud as she backed out of Wesley’s driveway, and then she headed toward Highway 20.
    Gertrude Foley’s house was not easy to find, as it sat at the end of the road on a bench above town. Mandy found the retired schoolteacher out back of her house. On the cusp of eighty, big-boned and ruddy, Mrs. Foley wore bib overalls over a gray sweatshirt and slowly followed a rototiller as it churned a textured path through her garden spot. Five ducks waddled behind her, nuzzling their bills into the coffee-colored soil as they searched for grubs. At the far end of the garden, peas twined their way up a hog-wire lattice.
    Mandy had to call Mrs. Foley’s name twice before she got her attention. The old lady turned, and Mandy noted the generous mouth and hazel eyes that looked like they wouldn’t miss much. Though the old lady had agreed to meet Mandy this morning, there was no smile of welcome. She turned off the tiller and waited.
    “I’m Dr. Steenburg,” Mandy said. “Thank you for saying I could come by.”
    Mrs. Foley stood her ground, so Mandy stepped into the newly plowed garden. When her stylish high heels sank in and tipped her backward, she overcompensated and lurched forward. Had it not been for Mrs. Foley’s steadying hand, she might have gone down.
    “Excuse me,” Mandy said, color rising to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.”
    “That’s all right. You’re not wearing gardening shoes.”
    “No, I’m not. I think I’ll go back to where the footing is better.” She made the return trip with more grace, trying not to think what the rain and dirt were doing to her shoes. When she gained solid ground, she said, “I wanted to come and meet you. Report in, you might say.”
    “I suppose you’ve already talked to Vince Lafitte.”
    “Yes. Mr. Lafitte came to see me yesterday.”
    “I’ll wager he did. I taught that boy in fifth grade. Taught him and Grange both.” Mrs. Foley leaned down and began tugging on a hank of grass wound around the tiller axel. “Poor Vince. He always wanted to be somebody.”
    Mandy frowned. “He seems like somebodyto me. How long must someone wear a childhood label?”
    Mrs. Foley’s head was still down as she yanked at the snarl of grass. “I don’t know, people being what they are. It’s a different world now, but back when he was in grade school, there was a stigma attached to being born out of wedlock.”
    Stunned at the old lady’s revelation, Mandy stood with her mouth gaping.
    Mrs. Foley straightened up and threw the grass on a compost pile, and the ducks ran to investigate, quacking in interrogatives. The old lady wiped