TUESDAY, JANUARY 26
I don’t see the lovers until I am right upon them, and even then, hidden as they are, it would have been easy to pass them by altogether. A man and a woman in a passionate embrace. Heads bent. Breathing hard. Hands roving.
It takes a moment to recognize the auburn hair of Sally Pierce.
It takes a few more after that to recognize Jonathan. The wagon is off the road, pulled beneath the shelter of three towering pine trees, and they are pressed against it, oblivious to my presence. Jonathan has one hand up Sally’s skirt and another in her hair.
I stare in disbelief. It isn’t so much what they are doing that has struck me dumb—I was young myself once, after all—but where. Anyone crossing the bridge could see them if they cared to look. Then again, perhaps that is why they chose the spot after all. They are two miles from the Hook. Secluded. Private. Out in the woods by themselves.
Except they aren’t. And now I must announce my presence or move on, pretending I didn’t see them. The latter is the better choice. The wiser. Both Jonathan and Sally are of age, after all. But I have not forgotten the accusations she brought against the Fosters, nor the shame and trouble it has caused my friends. So this seems the worst kind of hypocrisy, and I decide that I owe the girl no kindness today.
“Don’t mind me,” I say once I am certain that I can control the tone of my voice. And even then, it takes a few seconds for the words to register in their addled minds.
Jonathan and Sally jerk apart as if struck by lightning. The moment she recognizes me, her face floods, first with shock, then with fear. Those hazel eyes get wider and wider as her face crumples in dismay. She is about to cry. I only have to say a word to ensure it happens. Jonathan, sensing this, steps in front of Sally as she rearranges her clothing. He looks at me with an expression that can only be described as fury. Angry, not that he was caught, but by his mother.
This is how it has been between us for the last few years. I know why, but still, it hurts. The joy of having sons is that they worship their mothers. Until one day, suddenly, they don’t. I am not like you, he realizes. We are different. Then, that boy—once small and sweet—begins the long, hard process of separation, until at last he rips the seam. But the holes where mother and son were once knit together remain.
“Sally has been at the house helping Hannah with a quilt.” Jonathan clears his throat. “I was just escorting her home.”
“Is that what you were doing?”
He doesn’t bother explaining how they came to be parked beneath a tree, pressed up against the wagon. Silence stretches between us, long and awkward.
“Perhaps you’d best get her the rest of the way there.” I meet Sally’s eyes purposefully, then. “Lest you upset her father.”
Jonathan helps the girl into the wagon, then goes around to his side, flashing me a look of blatant hostility.
“Sally,” I say, and nod farewell.
The girl cannot meet my eyes, cheeks and hair battling over which is brighter. Her voice is a barely a croak when she responds, “Mistress Ballard.”
Jonathan climbs into the seat beside her and takes the reins. “Jonathan?”
He looks up then, and I see the first glimpse of the boy he used to be. Sweet but clever, the way he was when caught with his hand in a jar of sweets. It’s only a flash, but it comforts me. Reminds me that even though he is his own man, he is still my boy. Not even a ripped seam can alter that.
“We will speak about this later.”
* “Are you going to marry Sally Pierce?”
Jonathan startles. He had not expected to find me waiting for him in the barn. But I have long since learned that this particular son cannot be left to wiggle his way out of a confrontation. The only way to get his attention is to catch him by surprise.
“No,” he says. “I ain’t the type to leap over my sword. Not with her. Not with anyone. Marriage means children. And children mean responsibilities. I like my life exactly the way it is.”
“Then you’d best leave her alone. You know well enough how children come to be.”
“It was just a bit of fun,” he says. “I am not a fool, Jonathan Ballard.” “I never thought you one.”
He leads Sterling to his stall then heaves the saddle onto its rack. He doesn’t look at me, and I think he’s finally showing a bit of embarrassment.
“Nor I, you. Which is why I am surprised at you being so reckless with that girl. Her! Of all people? How could you?”
“It was just—”
“Don’t you dare say it was just a bit of fun. Because I saw her face.
And she believes that she’s getting a great deal more from you than that.”
