Free The Forever Stone by Gloria Repp Page B

for my book.”
    Remi grinned. “Let’s talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs . . .”
    It took her a minute, but then she had it. “Shakespeare,” she said. “Richard II.” Why hadn’t Remi gone to college?
    His eyes sparkled. “Yeah, that old guy sure could write. How come you know him?”
    “I taught British Lit for a while.”
    Remi leaned forward to say something more, but Kent interrupted. “This is good cake, Madeleine. Homemade?”
    “Yes.” Should she tell him that Jude, one of those “nuisance kids” had done most of the work? No; she’d probably end by apologizing or doing something equally mousey.
    Finally Kent stood up to make a graceful exit, and Remi echoed his words. “Farewell, ladies. See you tomorrow.”
    That night, as she wrote in her journal, Madeleine hesitated over what to say about Kent. She settled on: Self-centered but probably harmless. Unpredictable. Do I still think he’s an eager puppy? Not sure. He tries to impress.
    By morning, wind screeched around the corners of the house and rain pounded on the roof. No Batsto today, and Madeleine didn’t mind. If she had any spare time, she’d rather spend it at Timothy’s store, getting started on her course.
    She and Aunt Lin made plans for organizing the china, glassware, and oddments still on the dining room table. They began investigating the rest of the cabinets, and the morning passed quickly.
    After lunch Aunt Lin phoned the Truck Guys and came back looking disappointed. “Not until tomorrow. I asked about boxes, and they don’t have any left.”
    Madeleine wondered aloud whether Timothy might have boxes, and her aunt said, “He probably does. He’ll let you have them, I’m sure.” She paused in the kitchen doorway, looking preoccupied. “My partner phoned. He’s come up with another great idea, which means I’ve got a lot of work to do before Wednesday.”
    She left the kitchen, murmuring to herself, and Madeleine knew she wouldn’t reappear until evening. What next? She’d finish up that cabinet, and go see Timothy. Take the laptop.

CHAPTER 7
     
Timothy keeps surprising me.
He looks like a little old gnome,
but he’s funny and wise and kind.
I feel as if I can tell him . . . some things.
~ Journal
     
    The street was lined with cars, but Timothy’s store looked empty. What was the attraction on this rainy day? He answered from a corner when she called his name, and she found him standing on a box beside a stack of canned peaches.
    “Where’s the big sale?” she asked. “Or the fire?”
    “All those cars? Monday and Tuesday mornings are Free Clinic. Nathan and a couple of other doctors run it together.”
    “Free?”
    “Almost. A lot of people around here don’t have insurance, so the doctors arranged for them to pay what they can.”
    “They won’t break even, will they?”
    “Probably not, but it was Nathan’s idea, and he’s convinced the other doctors that it’s important. Did you come to work on your course?”
    “I did. Are you hungry yet?”
    He smiled, turned back to the canned peaches, lost his balance, and almost fell off the box. Half of the cans tumbled to the floor.
    “Careful!” Madeleine picked them up. “You should have a stepladder.”
    “I do, but someone borrowed it.”
    “I think I know who.”
    “I didn’t mind. He said he needed it.”
    “I have a feeling he’ll bring it back soon,” she said. “Can I help? What did you want this display to look like?”
    The old man lowered himself to the floor. “I thought a pyramid might be effective, maybe with a sign. Something about fresh-picked flavor.”
    “Sounds good.” She began arranging the cans. “Do you have any more of these?”
    “In the back.”
    The doorbell jingled, and a gaunt, red-haired man strolled in. His jeans were stained at the knees, and his jacket looked as if he’d been using it to wipe up an oil spill. One hand was bandaged. Had he just come from the clinic? He hunched over the display case while