She smiled at him happily. “Can I go fishing with you someday?” Ruth Quincy gasped in horror. Annie winced at her own boldness, but Travis and his father laughed, sounding almost identical.
It was obvious to her Travis had inherited his father’s easygoing personality. Mr. Quincy beamed. “Well, of course. Nice to meet you, young lady. You come back anytime. Travis, take those fish into the kitchen and clean them for Martha, there’s a good boy. And don’t worry about Desmond and your lesson. I’ll call down to the stables and send him home.”
When Travis’s mother growled under her breath, his father continued, “Ruth, before I dress for dinner, I need your advice on a very urgent matter.” He took her arm and led her away.
Travis let out a relieved sigh. “I hope Mother didn’t upset you. She can be sort of strict. And Dad likes everyone. He’s really friendly. Let’s go get some lemonade now, and then we can gut and clean the fish before I give them to Martha. She’s our cook,” he explained.
Annie’s nerves, having melted away during Mr. Quincy’s reassuring presence, flooded back with a vengeance at the word “cook.” God, it was like another world here. A huge, fancy house, a fancy mother, and now a cook. Riding lessons, too. Annie trailed along after Travis as he headed toward the kitchen.
How on earth they could ever be friends when their lives were so very different?
Chapter 2
Shuffling her feet, Annie walked down Spring Street. For some reason, today she paid attention to the shabby neighborhood where she’d lived all her life. Railroad tracks ran behind their house and rattled with freight trains every day. Smelly Crum Creek churned through the narrow ravine alongside the old tracks. Crabgrass grew through the cracks and gaps in the sidewalks on both sides of the street. Their house needed paint, and three broken boards out on the back porch should have been repaired years ago. Her brother, Danny, fell through them last summer right after his fifteenth birthday. He busted up his left leg, which sent his twin, Frankie, running off in a panic for help. The rest of the kids got stuck with Danny’s chores while he lay in bed and complained about everything.
Mark, the oldest, chose to enlist in the Air Force right after graduation. Bobby, fourteen, lived just to irritate everyone. Annie’s twelve-year-old sister, Susan, liked to boss her around and lord it over her because of their two-year age difference.
Susan, blond and pretty, already had tiny breasts growing underneath her tee shirts. When Annie drifted into the bedroom she shared with Susan, she caught her sister staring at her own body in the mirror and hesitantly touching herself in awe.
Annie gaped at her. Whirling around, Susan pointed at her bare chest and exclaimed, “Look, aren’t they simply fabulous?”
“I don’t see anything. You’re dreaming, Suze.” Annie wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Don’t call me Suze! You know I hate it. And I do so have them. You’re just jealous ‘cause you know it’ll be ages until you get anything on that flat, bony chest of yours.” Susan ducked the pillow Annie lobbed at her, snatched up her shirt, and ran for the door, yelling, “Mama, Annie hit me!”
Annie sank down on the edge of her bed and stared at her own reflection. She didn’t want to be mean to her sister, but lately she’d been wishing for more. She wanted to look like Susan, with her curling blond hair and big blue eyes. Instead, she got stuck with boring brown eyes and hair as straight as a stick.
She’d soon be eleven whole years old, but she still looked like a little kid. Annie held up her hands. She wanted to take piano lessons, but her hands were small and so narrow. Well, it wasn’t as if her parents could afford such a luxury. With a sigh, she tore her eyes away from the mirror.
She prowled around the room she shared with Susan, poked at the faded curtains at the window, scuffed her toe on the threadbare carpet. Being poor was no fun at all. Her daddy worked hard, long hours for what money he earned at the Interbake factory, fifty miles away outside of Harrisonburg. Every night he’d come home, worn out, and fall asleep in front of the television in the living room.
It took Mama most of the summer to can all the vegetables they grew, spending her time in the kitchen with the old pressure cooker. Sometimes she burned her fingers when the rusty gauge acted up. Mama worked hard, too.
Impatient with herself, Annie forced her thoughts away from where they’d wandered. She wasn’t ashamed of her large family, not one bit. They did all right. So what if she had to wear Susan’s hand-me-downs? At least her sister took decent care of her clothes.
Annie knew why everything bothered her today, the way she looked, her house, and her life: it was Travis Quincy.
Not only were they the richest family in Augusta County, they’d also founded Thompkin. Everyone knew the history, of how Duncan Quincy made a fortune in the silver mines during the Colorado Territory Rush, then came back to the Shenandoah Valley and built himself a town. He’d named it after his bride, Lilah Thompkin.
It seemed a long way from her old house on Spring Street to the Quincy mansion on Thompkin Hill. And Travis came from that local royalty.
Get a grip, Annie. She made a face in the mirror as she walked past it.
Travis had talked to her, laughed with her. Invited her to his house, treated her like a friend. Her mouth curved into a smile when she realized she had something her dopey sister didn’t have. With a lighter heart, Annie headed downstairs.
That evening, while Mary Turner supervised kitchen cleanup, Annie asked, “Mama, do you know Ruth Quincy?”
“Well, not really. I know of her, though we’ve never actually met.” Mary glanced at Annie, who carefully stacked plates in the cupboard. Curious, she queried, “Why do you ask?”
“I kind of met her, today. Well, first I met Travis.” While Susan squealed in disbelief, Annie rushed on, “And we were fishing together and then afterwards he asked me to come to his house for lemonade and I met Mrs. Quincy. Their house is like a mansion, Mama.”
The dishes abandoned, Annie spread out her arms in as large a circle she could make. “They had a light hanging in their hall this big. And the hall is lots bigger than our living room and kitchen together.”
“You’re lying,” Susan hissed. “You didn’t go over there. Why would Travis Quincy want to fish with you, anyway? He’s so gorgeous, and you’re a flat, skinny thing.” She flung her dishcloth into the sink as she faced Annie. Only Mary’s quiet admonishment kept her from saying more, and she subsided into a fuming silence.
Mary watched Annie’s cheeks bloom red from Susan’s angry words. “Annie, tell the truth. Were you at the Quincy house today? Did you really meet Travis?” It wasn’t that Mary didn’t want to believe her daughter, but it seemed far-fetched a boy like Travis would pay any attention to a ten-year-old girl from the wrong side of town. Oh, the Quincys weren’t any better than her family, she knew this. But they were rich and, because of that, probably unapproachable. In all her years living in Thompkin, she’d rarely seen Ruth Quincy in town.
Annie rubbed away her tears. “I’m not lying, honest. I was at the pond trying to fish, and my line was all knotted up. Travis was there, too, and he tried to help me, but we couldn’t get the knots out. He forgot to bring worms so I shared mine with him, and he let me use his pole. We caught lots of fish.” Suddenly crestfallen, she added, “Only I left mine at the pond. I bet they’re all dead now.”
She brightened again as she finished her story. “Then we went to his house and I helped him clean his fish, and their cook Martha gave me lemonade and a brownie, and I got to meet Mr. Quincy, too. He’s a lot nicer than his wife,” she confided.
Susan grumbled, “I can’t believe you got inside their house. I’ve wanted to see it forever. What’s Travis like? Is his voice as dreamy as his face? Did you tell him about me?” She fired rapid questions at Annie, who only blinked at her, while Mary hid a smile behind her hand.
Annie stammered, “He’s cute and all. You know he is, Suze. You’ve seen him around town. And why would I tell
him about you? That’s so dumb.”
“Don’t call me Suze. And it is not dumb!” Susan screeched. “I bet you didn’t meet Travis Quincy at all. Why would he want to hang out with a bratty kid like you? You’re such a liar—”
“Susan, enough. Apologize to your sister right now.”
As Susan mumbled a resentful apology, Mary scolded, “I don’t know what gets into you sometimes. You know better than to say such hurtful things. I think you should finish up in here, and Annie can get started on her bath. And I want you in bed early tonight.” Mary pulled Annie toward the stairs when Susan protested about how life was so unfair. Mary rolled her eyes as she herded Annie upstairs.
In the bathtub, while Annie scrubbed herself, Mary brushed the tumbled hair back from her daughter’s forehead. More and more, she resembled her daddy, and Henry Turner was the love of Mary’s life. It thrilled her to see his wonderful features on Annie’s delicate face. Mary also knew Susan, as the older sister, enjoyed feeling superior.
Unfolding a towel, Mary wrapped it around Annie and patted her thin shoulders dry. “Honey, you know not to let Susan make you feel bad about yourself. Don’t you?” She cupped her hand under Annie’s chin, raised the wounded brown eyes to hers.
“It wasn’t that, Mama. I don’t really care about the mean stuff she says. I hate it when she doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t lie.” Annie sniffed while Mary handed her a tissue.
She took her daughter’s hand in hers, squeezing the small fingers. “I believe you, and so does your sister. I’ll bet that’s why she’s mad. She wishes it had happened to her. Although I honestly can’t see Susan up to her ankles in pond muck, wrapping a worm on a fishing hook.” They both laughed at the idea of girly-girl Susan trying to bait a hook. She wouldn’t be caught dead fishing at any pond.
“So, tell me about this Travis. Is he a nice boy? I’ve met his father a few times, over the years. He’s a good man.”
“Did you go to school with him, Mama? Did you know Mrs. Quincy in school, too?”
“Goodness, Mrs. Quincy is younger than I am. I’m probably closer to her husband’s age. But no, I didn’t go to school with him. He went away to the academy. Travis probably goes there too, I’d imagine.”
“Then in another couple of months, he’ll be gone. That’s just unfair.”
Sympathetic, Mary nodded. “Yes, I know, honey. It’s kind of unfair. But look at it this way. If you and Travis are meant to be friends, then you will be, whether he’s here in town or away at school. If he goes to the academy like his daddy did, then I bet he comes home on the weekends sometimes, and for the holidays. And you have two whole months more to go fishing and have fun, before he’d have to leave. Right?” She gave her daughter’s shoulder a comforting rub.
“I guess. If his mama lets him. She sure didn’t like me. She called me ‘this...child...’” Annie mimicked a lady’s highbrow tone perfectly, and Mary was torn between chuckling at the imitation, and outrage at Ruth Quincy’s attitude. “I don’t think she likes kids much.”
“Well, maybe she’s never had an opportunity to be around any children other than Travis. I suppose we could ask her to tea on a day when the boys are all home, fighting over the television, and tromping through the house with their muddy shoes. That might give her a taste of what extra kids are all about.”
When Annie giggled, Mary hugged her, reveling in the sweet warmth of her child in her arms. How could anyone not love her Annie? It was inconceivable.
“Come on, Munchkin.” She smiled when Annie groaned at the old pet name. “Off to bed. We have to can sweet relish first thing after church. I’ll need you and Susan both to help me. And no fighting in the kitchen tomorrow, okay?”
“I’ll try. But if Susan calls me skinny and flat one more time, I’m punching her out.”
In the room the girls shared, Annie tugged off her towel and wriggled into a nightgown, crawled into bed, and snuggled with her pillow. Mary kissed her forehead and whispered a soft ‘good night.’
As she moved toward the door, Annie mumbled, “Mama? Do you think I’m pretty?”
A tender smile bloomed across Mary’s face. “I think you’re very pretty, honey. Inside where it counts as well as outside where everyone, especially your friends, can’t help but see it.” She blew Annie a kiss and slipped out into the hallway.
Chapter 3
A light breeze rustled the thin marsh grasses that shielded one end of Bogg Pond. Travis sat on the largest flat rock, chin in hand, his tee shirt damp and stuck to his back. If I had some danged scissors, I’d hack up my jeans and turn them into shorts.
Anything to cool himself down.
He glanced over at Annie, poised at the very edge of the pond, her knees slightly bent as she grasped the rod in one hand and played out line with the other. She looked as sweaty as he felt, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Heck, nothing really bothered Annie when she was on the hunt for bullheads, not the heat, the mosquitoes, or the thick, steamy air. He had to admire a kid like that.
“Aren’t you hot?” he called over, ignoring the Number One Fishing Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Get Loud Around the Fish.
“Shh.” He could just hear her over the chirping crickets. “I’ve hooked one and he’s gonna fight me.”
Wildly envious because his line was empty, he snorted, “Bulls don’t fight. It’s not like you’re fishing for trout.”
“This one’ll fight.” Her soft voice got smug.
Travis jumped down from the rock. He had to see this for himself. Annie always seemed to get the largest bulls. He’d like to have some of whatever magic she used to catch them. He strode to her side and peered over her shoulder, just as she jerked her arm. The hook caught firmly in the fish’s mouth, and they both gasped at its large splash.
“Holy heck! Where did he come from?” Travis’s jaw dropped as he sized up the fat bullhead Annie now struggled to pull in. He brought his arms around her, caught the rod with one hand, and helped her pull the line with the other. Together they yanked, tugged, and finally landed a bull he swore was as big as a catfish.
Annie dragged a grimy hand over her forehead and left behind a smear of worm slime. She gaped down at the flopping monster. “I’ve never seen a bull that big. Maybe it’s really a cat.”
Travis stepped away from her and knelt down to get a better look. The head might be broad enough for a cat, but it still looked more like a bull, and the coloring was right. “I think it’s a plain old bull.” He prodded it with a finger, and the bull whipped and pulled at the line Annie still held. “Maybe this is one of those wily bulls Dad always brags about.” He grinned up at Annie, who chuckled.
“We should take it back to your house and show him. He’ll flip when he sees what we’ve got.” She knelt beside Travis, and between the two of them, they unhooked the large fish from the line. Travis got hold of it with both hands and dumped it into the cooler he’d brought. Four other fish lay, submerged and listless, in the large, water-filled cooler. The new bull eclipsed them all.
He stood, wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans. “I bet he would flip. But he’s not home. He’s in Newport this week.” He waited until she jumped to her feet, then moved to the flat rock and climbed onto it. Annie followed and clambered up behind him, grabbing onto the back of his shirt for balance.
In silence, they watched the ripple of marsh grass as the breeze strengthened. Travis didn’t feel like talking, and Annie wasn’t one to push it. He liked that about her. He glanced sideways as she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin, her attention caught by a low-flying heron.
Since they’d started fishing together, they hung out at the pond almost every day he could wrangle out of whatever dumb plans his mother insisted on making for him. Even when the fish wouldn’t bite and all they did was sit on the bank and swat flies, he had fun with Annie despite the three-year gap in their ages. His dad liked her. Too bad his mother didn’t.
Thoughts of his mother put a frown on his face.
Annie noticed it, and elbowed him in the ribs. “What’s wrong with you? Mad ‘cause I got the biggest bull?”
He elbowed her in return, careful not to push too hard and knock her off the rock. “No, I’m not. Well, maybe a little.” He snickered when she stuck her tongue out at him. “I was just thinking about junk I have to do when I get home. Stuff I was supposed to do all day. I kind of took off without even starting on it.”
“What kind of stuff?” Annie shifted on the rock to face him, her eyes lit with interest. For some reason she found his life fascinating and loved to hear him talk about it. He couldn’t imagine why.
“It’s nothing.” He passed it off with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, come on. Tell me all about your junk. Maybe I can help.”
He stared at her in consideration, and shrugged. “Okay. Can you play golf? Take over my fencing lesson? Read the next ten chapters of The Quincy Legacy History, for me?”
“Huh?”
He cracked a grin at the confusion on her face. “All the junk I have to do. My mother loads it on me every summer, like she can’t stand to see me have any actual fun. Golf lessons and riding lessons and stupid fencing lessons. Dusty old books full of deadly boring facts about my Quincy ancestors.” His grin faded as suddenly as it appeared. “It’s like she doesn’t want me to be happy. This summer is worse than all the rest of them, because she’s started going off about politics.”
“Oh, Travis. I’m sorry your mama drives you nuts.” Annie rubbed her hand over his shoulder.
She sat quietly beside him. Travis knew she sometimes wondered if he had that great a life. She probably compared his relationship with his mother to the way Mary Turner treated Annie and the rest of the kids. In that respect, his life came up way short.
Annie prodded, “What does your daddy think? He’s so nice, Travis. He seems a lot more . . . um . . . .” She seemed to struggle for a word that wouldn’t show his mother in a bad light. Finally, she said, “He seems really easygoing. Kind.”
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