Free Still House Pond by Jan Watson Page A

many of the old folks as well. Manda danced every dance. She had no idea there were so many unattached men around. It would be better if Gurney would stop cutting in, but he wasn’t a man to take a hint. She didn’t mind too much though, for Gurney was easy to maneuver toward the stage, which was where she really wanted to be. If it was true you could talk with your eyes, then she was talking, and by all accounts the middling man was listening.
    An hour later, the last dance—a slow, sweet waltz—was announced. Gurney pulled her into a tight embrace. She didn’t protest but laid her head on his shoulder and let him be her guide. She had never been this close to a grown man before. An odd sense of power, her power over him, startled her and she pulled back a bit. Was this strange feeling the “feminine wiles” she read about in the ladies’ magazines? If so, she needed to be careful lest she entice Gurney. She’d read about that too—enticing. It could get you into trouble and ruin your reputation quick as a cat’s sneeze.
    Besides, she didn’t want to waste those wiles. The magazine didn’t say how long they lasted, and she might want to try them out again sometime—say on the middling man.

8
    Copper felt guilty as she rode Chessie across the forest floor. The little girls had pitched a fit when she left, and it was wash day. But instead of scrubbing grass stains from the knees of Jack’s trousers or starching the girls’ Sunday dresses, she was off on a lark. Well, maybe not a lark, but she was out of the house. When she left, Manda was separating whites from darks while Remy was building a fire under the washtub. Lilly was charged with keeping her brother and sisters out from underfoot, a task she was very good at. It made Copper wonder if Lilly might be a schoolteacher one day.
    Chessie paused at the edge of a pond. She was a cautious mare and wouldn’t venture into the water unless Copper strongly urged her to. Copper dismounted. The still water reflected the blue sky and a few white buttermilk clouds. It was wide, but it didn’t seem deep. Water could fool the eye, however. They could go around, but stands of silver tulip tree saplings banked the pool, and besides, Chessie needed to learn to deal with the fear of losing her footing.
    It hadn’t happened yet, but there was sure to come a day when both horse and rider would need to cross a swollen body of water to get to a patient up some holler or another. This area was notorious for violent flooding, especially in the spring and in the winter when snowmelt turned quietly meandering creeks into lethal rivers. Copper should know—many years ago her own mother had drowned in one such flood.
    She picked up a good-size rock and lobbed it to the center of the pool. It hit bottom with a plunk and a smallish splash. A frog with legs like bouncing springs jumped from the water’s edge, startling both her and Chessie. Crouching down, Copper watched skimmer bugs skate across the surface of the water. It was amazing how creation worked. This newly formed pool was already a home for some of God’s most fascinating creatures.
    Copper stood and took a crudely drawn map from her pocket and studied it. If she kept following Goose Creek for about two miles, veered left at the big rock, then right at the bent sycamore, she’d wind up at the Mortons’. At least that was what Mr. Morton’s X marks the spot indicated. Maybe she should pray there was only one big rock on this trail. She hefted herself into the saddle, then urged Chessie on.
    Mr. Morton had called John aside in the churchyard yesterday to ask his permission for Copper to call on his wife. Mr. Morton didn’t attend their church, but he knew where to find John on a Sunday morning. Copper was a little aggravated that he hadn’t asked for her directly. John didn’t tell her what she could or couldn’t do. The man was