Friday, September 5, 2014

Sneak preview--1 From SECRETS OF THE LAKE. A love story about the Johnstown Flood

As Caleb prepared to wade back into the water, he glanced down the bridle path. A figure ambled toward him from the east—her ankle-length white skirt seeming to flow along the bank. Golden braids bounced from under the stylishly wide brim of her summery straw hat with pink, red, and blue roses tucked in the band.

She was a tall woman with lithe movements. In the elegant way she carried her umbrella, keeping it folded and tucked under the arm, she could have been a tennis player carrying a racquet.

Smiling, she seemed to be waving at something or someone, and Caleb thought how nice and friendly it was if she were waving at him. As she drew closer he was surprised to hear her toss him a little shout while pointing the umbrella with the grace of a danseuse in the direction behind him.

At the same moment he heard hoof beats.

Caleb spun around just in time. The man on the horse was cantering toward him from the other end of the path. He wore army jodhpurs and had a badge over the breast of his grey military coat, all of which was well and good except that what the man carried on his hip gave Caleb pause.

It was a shotgun and it was pointed directly at Caleb.

“Identify yourself,” the rider shouted as he pulled up and dismounted. His tone was anything but polite.

Caleb turned and walked toward him slowly, sheepishly, feeling like he had been caught red-handed stealing the jewels of Queen Victoria. Slowly Caleb raised his hands.

“Did you mean me, sir?” Caleb asked, forcing a smile.

“Who do you think I am speaking to—you half-naked intruder?” He waved the barrel in little circles, but still it was pointed rather uncomfortably at Caleb’s exposed chest. “I doubt if you are a guest of a member, so you are therefore trespassing and only the good Lord knows what else. Disappear immediately or I shall lock you up.”

“I am sorry, but I did not know of your rules,” Caleb said, fully aware that he was lying through his teeth.

“The sign—you had to see it. The last I looked it said members only. And I am further of the belief there were also the words trespassing absolutely forbidden.”

The woman in the straw hat stepped forward.

“He is our guest, Mr. Grimsby,” she said.

She moved between the man and Caleb, jabbing the point of the umbrella into the ground as if preparing to make a royal pronouncement.

Reluctantly Grimsby took his eyes from Caleb. He turned to the woman with the look of a man who had just had his favorite horse stolen.

“I’m sorry, Miss Prescott. I didn’t know you and the gentleman were acquainted.” To Caleb’s immense relief the man lowered the shotgun and nodded to the woman.

“But the gentleman will have to return whatever he has procured in those specimen bottles. Those are the rules, Ma’am.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Grimsby. I shall take care of the matter,” the woman said, painting a look of abject trust across her wicked, little smile.

Grimsby holstered his shotgun, climbed onto his horse, and cantered off. Several times he turned and glanced back.

Caleb and the woman stared at each other for a moment, grinning like a pair of thieves.

“Thank you, Miss Prescott,” Caleb said finally.

“Annabelle,” she said. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“My name is McBride,” he said. “Caleb McBride. I’m collecting Rachophorus Malabaricus—more commonly known by my sixth graders as tadpoles.”

She seemed to like what he said. He noticed the dimple in the middle of her chin.

“Shall I throw them back?” Caleb asked, trying to appear cooperative but having no intention of surrendering his hard-won specimens that had just risen considerably in value.

“I think we can spare a tadpole or two,” she said. “Do you come here often, Mr. McBride?”

“My first and probably my last visit,” he said, pulling on his shirt and vest. He tossed the haversack over his shoulder and grabbed the net.

He paused. It began dawning on Caleb McBride that he was talking to the most beautiful woman in the world. Slowly, a look of panic crossed his face. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His tongue was tied in a thick knot.

“Well, I suppose I should leave,” he said, finally.

“Perhaps we shall meet again, Mr. McBride,” she said.

“Caleb,” he said.

“Goodbye,” she said, pausing. Then in a voice that was filled with music he heard her say his name again.

“Goodbye, Caleb.”

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