After Many Years by Carolyn Strom Collins & Carolyn Strom Collins & Christy Woster

Author:Carolyn Strom Collins & Carolyn Strom Collins & Christy Woster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nimbus
Published: 2017-08-02T15:07:07+00:00

Chapter III

Miss Edgelow was walking at sunset in the Whispering Lane. This land ran through the beech wood at the back of the Cooper and Edgelow estates. It had been a bone of contention for generations. Both families claimed it and both used it determinedly to prove their claim. For the past twenty years no particular fuss had been made over it. Miss Elizabeth walked through it on principle twice a year when she knew James Edgelow would see her; and James Edgelow always went to church that way, when he did go, though it was the longest way around.

Samuel joined Miss Edgelow as she loitered along under the great, gray-boughed beeches. Perhaps Miss Edgelow had been expecting someone else; perhaps not. She did not betray any disappointment and she smiled at Samuel in a chummy fashion and proceeded to get acquainted with him.

Miss Edgelow had, so it seemed, a “way” with boys. Samuel liked her but kept his head. After all, he was the retainer of a clan that was at feud with hers. When he found out that she was not afraid of snakes he respected her also, but for all that he had made up his mind that he was not going to have any “courting” between her and Romney.

Samuel wanted Romney wholly for himself; he loved him and he wanted him for chum and playfellow. This would, Samuel knew with a deadly, instinctive certainty, be all spoiled if he began running after a “skirt.” Men were no good when they began running after skirts. Besides, this particular skirt was an Edgelow, and you couldn’t trust an Edgelow. She would likely as not make a fool of Romney. Sarah Dean, down at Clifton, had made a fool of Homer Gibson and Homer had hanged himself. Samuel was not going to have any hangings at Hill o’ the Winds. This Edgelow girl must have her claws clipped in time.

Samuel had been thinking over the matter all day and knew just what he was going to do. Meanwhile he sat on the log and appeared so simple and charming and naïve that Miss Edgelow thought him a delightful child.

“What is your name?” asked Samuel.

“Dorcas Edgelow.”

“I told him that. He wouldn’t hardly believe it.”

“Told who?”

“O, Romney. He was quizzing me about you.”

“O, indeed! And why wouldn’t he believe my name was Dorcas?”

“Dunno. He’s full of queer notions. He says,” went on Samuel shamelessly, “that if he was rich he’d marry you.”

Miss Edgelow crimsoned. She looked very angry for a moment, but Samuel, intent on shifting a snake to more comfortable quarters, did not notice this.

“But he’s poor—always was and always will be, so he says. He’s a writer man, you know. He likes to spoon about with girls and then put them in his stories.”

“O, so that is what he does,” said Miss Edgelow, still looking a little dangerous. “Did he tell you so?”

“Yep. He wants to get acquainted with you so that he can put you in a book. Honest.

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