Chapter 7 Sarafina

CHAPTER 7

SARAFINA

APRIL 16, 1895

From the moment you first smiled at me, I liked you because of your generous heart and strong spirit. But you rapidly became more than a friend, and I grew to love you in spite of the fact that I knew from the very beginning we could never be more than that, no matter how much I wished it otherwise….

—letter from William Day to Sarafina Dove

Sarafina's favorite place in the whole world was the pond. It was really a lake, but it had been called Dove Pond since the day it had been discovered by one of her ancestors almost two hundred years ago. They'd loved the little lake so well that they'd even named the town after it.

For her, the pond was a beautiful, magical place. The water was deep and blue and so clear that, near the shoreline, she could see the rocks that lined the bottom. One side of the pond abutted a steep cliff that was carved out of a mountain. The other side was delightfully level and rimmed with weeping willows. Her special fishing spot was tucked inside a little cove lined with those trees, and she loved how they trailed their leaves across the glassy water, leaving delicate swirls in the mirrorlike surface. When one added in the convenient fallen log that sat along the pond's bank, right where the water was the deepest, it wasn't just a perfect place to fish, but it was also a perfect place to write or spend time with a friend.

On this particular Tuesday afternoon, after paying out the necessary breadcrumbs to the birds Aunt Emily Anne had sent to spy, Sarafina took her fishing pole from where she kept it tucked behind the log, dug an earthworm out of the soft dirt under a tree, and baited her hook. Then she set her line and rested the pole against the fallen log. Satisfied, she settled down with her notebook and a pencil to work on the latest chapter of her new story.

She was writing a series for her aunts called "Pauline Xavier, Egyptian Explorer Extraordinaire." Her aunts were currently obsessed with all things Egyptian and scoured the national newspapers for stories about newly discovered tombs and artifacts, so they especially loved the new story.

As Sarafina wrote, an early spring breeze rose, stirring up the damp forest scent and ruffling the edges of her skirts. She tried to stay focused on her writing, but she couldn't help but stop every few seconds and glance back at the path.

Over the past year, every Tuesday afternoon, no matter the weather, she and William Day had met here by the pond. They'd even managed a few Friday afternoons when her aunts had extra meetings with their sewing circle because of various holidays.

Sarafina found him fascinating. He was surprisingly funny for such an intense person. But over their visits, she'd found that he was also one of the most polite, cautious, and thoughtful people she'd ever met, which was both delightful and frustrating. It was delightful, as it proved that he was a far better person than the horrid gossips in their town would admit. But it was frustrating because that same caution and politeness kept him from overstepping the boundaries of their friendship, something she was increasingly hoping he'd do.

To be honest, she wished he were a bit more of a masher, as Aunt Jane called men who flirted. Aunt Jane didn't care for mashers, while it seemed that Aunt Em had a soft spot for them.

Sarafina sighed and tilted her face up to where the sun flickered through the branches overhead. She wasn't sure when it started, but lately just seeing William made her heart flutter. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that she didn't know the exact date her feelings of admiration and friendship had started changing to something more. It wasn't as if the first signs of spring showed up all at once, either. You sort of noticed those changes little by little until, suddenly, there it was.

She was pretty sure she liked him far more than he liked her. Enough that—unbeknownst to her aunts—she had used her allowance to purchase a tin of Dr. Campbell's Lilly White Wafers. According to the ad Sarafina had read in the back of The Ladies' World , the wafers would give her a dazzling, glowing complexion that would draw admiring gazes from men everywhere. She didn't care about men everywhere, just William. But so far, he didn't seem to notice her suddenly bright complexion.

A rustling noise from the pathway announced his arrival. Sarafina's heart gave an excited jump, and she had to force herself to lock her gaze on her notebook.

"Hi." William sat on the patch of grass beside her feet and leaned against the log next to her, his shoulder just inches from her knee. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his ever-present book, this time a dime novel called The Ranch. He glanced at her notebook. "I see you're still writing that Egyptian adventure for your aunts. Let me read it when you're done."

"Of course," she said, hoping her hot cheeks weren't as pink as they felt. This isn't the glow I was hoping for. Suddenly awkward, she dropped her gaze to his book and noticed a folded slip of newsprint tucked between the pages. "What's that?"

He pulled it out and handed it to her. "A news article from the Daily Tribune about the new advances in photography. My uncle wants me to start helping out in the photography studio that's over the Register office."

William's uncle was the owner and editor of the Dove Pond Register . A bluff, hearty man with a broad, kind smile, he was quite influential in town, sponsoring many events and sitting on a number of town committees. After the death of William's father, Edward had tried to assist his nephew when he could, getting him odd jobs here and there.

According to William, although his uncle owned many businesses—the Register , the photography studio, and the local grist mill among them—he was generous to a fault, giving away money he'd have been better off keeping, and often hiring people with no qualifications who ended up costing him far more than they earned him. Which was why he wasn't nearly as wealthy as people thought him to be.

William slid the article back into his book. "Uncle Edward wants me to start taking photographs of local people who—" A rustle from the pathway drew William's attention, and he turned and stared for a moment before turning back around and resuming his reclined post against the log. "Must have been the breeze. I thought it might be Marcus."

Of the few friends William had, he was closest to Marcus Mc-Cleary. Sarafina didn't like the man. He drank frequently, had a sad tendency to gamble, and got into so many fistfights that it was painfully obvious to her, at least, that he was most likely the cause of the majority of them. Worse than all of that, though, was that he always expected William to bail him out of whatever trouble he had gotten into, which was far too frequently for Sarafina's peace of mind. Twice, in fact, just in the last three months, William had shown up with black eyes and bruises from rescuing his friend from men he owed money to. It was heartbreaking for her to see.

She shot William a curious look. "Why did you invite him here?"

"He's avoiding town right now."

Sarafina's suspicions were confirmed by that answer. "He's in trouble again."

"Probably." William rested his open book on his knee, his gaze moving to the rippling water beneath the trees.

Sarafina so wanted to ask him why he stayed friends with such a troublemaker, but she felt she'd be encroaching too much into his personal life. Her gaze followed his to the pond. "You should take a photograph of this."

He slanted a look up at her. "Maybe I could take some of you. Just for practice."

All he had to do was ask. She pretended not to be excited. "Just let me know when and where."

"Thank you." He smiled and then settled down to read his book.

She pulled her notebook closer and readied her pencil, but her gaze kept drifting back to him. She wanted to ask him so many things. Why did he keep meeting her here? Did he enjoy their afternoons together as much as she did? Did he, perhaps, like her? He never missed a single Tuesday, so that was something.

Wasn't it?

She sighed. There was nothing for it, she supposed, except to wait until he was ready to tell her all the things she was dying to know. If there was one thing she was good at other than writing stories to amuse her aunts, it was waiting. When she thought about it, she was waiting for a lot of things. She was waiting to figure out what life had in store for her. Waiting to find her place. Waiting to figure out what would make her happy, and what didn't. And now, she was waiting for William Day to move forward with their friendship.

William lowered his book and nodded toward her fishing pole. "Have you caught anything today?"

"Not yet, but I only got here a short time ago."

"You will." He said it so easily that she had to hide a smile. "You're very good at fishing."

Why did people find that so unusual? Even her own aunts, who'd raised her since she was a baby, called her ability to fish "an unfortunate gift."

She eyed the cork bobber on her line and made sure it was still undisturbed, and then turned her face to the sun, letting the late-afternoon warmth wash over her. The quiet, the peacefulness of the water, the feel of the sun-warmed ground beneath her feet, William's gratifying presence—there was no better place to be.

William had picked up his book once more, and she saw that the cover featured a cowboy shooting a rifle from the back of a wildly galloping horse. "Do you like that story?"

"It's very good. A lot of people might think Westerns are just about shoot-outs, but there's more to them. In this one, there's a rancher who's about to lose his property to the bank. He's married and has two children, so he's willing to fight hard to keep his land. There's a curse, too, made by an old crone who lives down by the railroad who's—" He caught himself and sent her a self-conscious look. "It sounds ridiculous when I describe it, but it doesn't seem that way when I read it."

"It doesn't sound ridiculous at all. I like books with curses or mysteries or hidden treasures. Things like that. Maybe I can borrow it when you're done?"

"I'll bring it back next week. You can take it home then."

"Thank you." The breeze fluttered the edge of her notebook paper, and she laid her hand on it. "My aunt Jane says that books are fresh air for the stale soul."

"That's a good way to put it." He leaned against the log, his broad shoulder once again just inches from her skirts.

They were quiet after that. She wrote a little here and there and waited for a fish to bite while he read. It was cozy and natural, and she couldn't help but sigh happily. Twice she got a nibble on her line, but nothing more than that. In the quiet, she could hear the hum of bees, the occasional splash of a fish, and the rustle of the pages of William's book.

She took the opportunity to steal a few glances at him. She'd never before thought to use the word beautiful to describe a man, but in this instance, it was accurate. He had thick black hair that curled over his collar and made her think of a swashbuckling pirate, and ridiculously long lashes that framed his astonishingly blue eyes. Added to that, he was powerfully built, as if he could carry her without straining a bit or—

"Stop staring." He didn't look up as he turned the page, as if her actions weren't worth his attention.

She flushed and returned her gaze to her fishing line. "Sorry. I was just wondering about something."

"What?" he prompted when she didn't add more.

"Why are you friends with Marcus McCleary?" Despite her earlier determination to stay away from such a sensitive topic, the words bubbled out.

His blue gaze darkened. "Why shouldn't I be friends with him?"

The stiffness in his voice made her pause, but only for a moment. She'd said the words aloud and was committed now. "Being seen with Marcus… doesn't that make people talk more? He's always in trouble, and he always drags you into it, too."

William's gaze dropped back to his book and he absently traced the line of the horse on the cover. "Marcus was good to me when most people wouldn't even say hello when I walked down the street. He's never had much, either, but he's always shared it with me. He's my friend because he's never treated me as if I was a nobody."

She couldn't ignore the bitterness in William's voice. "You're somebody. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Just as I don't let people tell me girls can't fish."

He cut her a sharp glance, and recognizing her sincerity, some of the stiffness left his expression. "You're the first girl I've ever seen fish."

"Mrs. Barton does it."

A smile flashed across his face. "Does she?"

"And so do Mrs. Boone, Miss Felton, and Mrs. Wheaton." To be truthful, both Mrs. Wheaton and Mrs. Boone just accompanied their husbands while they fished, sitting nearby and reading, much as William was doing. But now and again, if their husbands baited their hooks for them, they would cast a line.

"You're a strange girl, Sarafina Dove."

She was oddly pleased at the seriousness of his words. "Strange is better than boring. According to the drivel I'm being taught at Miss LaFont's, women aren't supposed to be interesting in any way. They aren't supposed to have opinions or thoughts. They're supposed to act the same, do the same, think the same, be the same. Heavens to Betsy but I hate that school, and Miss LaFont, too, and I—" She made a face. "You know how I feel about it. I've complained about it a lot."

"You've mentioned it a time or two," he admitted with an amused look. "You said your father decided you should go because he didn't like the way your aunts have been raising you."

"My father is good at one thing: telling everyone what they're doing wrong. I hate it when he blames my aunts for my shortcomings, saying I'm ill-mannered and too outspoken."

"Those aren't your shortcomings, Sarafina. They're his."

Sarafina's face warmed. "I wish I could tell him that. I'd—" Her line jiggled, yanking her attention back to it. A fish! She grabbed the rod and twitched it up, setting the hook into the fish's mouth.

She jumped up and hurried to the pond's edge, grabbed the line, and pulled the fish to the bank. "There!" She grinned down at the big, beautiful bass now flopping at her feet on a flat rock.

William came to watch. "That's a big fish."

"I'm lucky the line held." Usually, when she caught a fish, she'd unhook it and release it back into the water. But today, she held it up. "Want to take this home? It would make a fine dinner."

He started to say no, so she added, "Please. I can't take it with me, as I can't tell my aunts where I've been."

William's gaze moved to the fish, a slow grin crossing his face. "Thank you."

"I'll run a stringer line here in the shallows to hold it until you're ready to leave." She put her foot over the fishing line so the flopping fish couldn't escape back into the pond and then reached behind the tree where she stored her rod. She removed a small leather pouch and opened it. Inside sat two more hooks, a bobbin of braided thread, and a rusty knife. She cut a length of the braid, picked up the fish, and removed the hook. Then she slipped the braid through the fish's mouth and gills, tied it off, and attached the free end to a limb near the water's edge. She carefully released the fish back into the water. It immediately tried to swim away but was held there in the shallows by the line.

She rinsed her hands in the pond and then dried them on some moss before putting everything back into the pouch and returning it to its hiding place.

William was now sitting on the log, watching her, his elbows resting on his knees. "That'll taste good with the potatoes I got today for carrying feed at the stables."

She knew then that before she'd caught this fish, he would have had only potatoes for dinner. She thought about the beef stew Aunt Em had waiting and a pang of guilt hit her. She sometimes forgot how different their lives were. She had her aunts, and although he wasn't often present, her father still contributed to her welfare. But William lived on his own and had since he'd been a troubled teen.

She'd be sure to bring him some cookies next week, or maybe some jelly biscuits the next time Aunt Emily Anne made them. Sarafina glanced up at the sky and realized the sun was sinking fast. "I should get going." She put away her fishing rod, careful to wedge the tip of the hook into the wood so it wouldn't get rusty.

"Be careful getting home."

"You too," she said. "I hope McCleary comes soon. It'll get dark before long."

"He'll come." And yet a flicker of worry crossed William's face.

She realized he felt responsible for his friend. "Maybe he's just late."

William didn't look convinced. "Maybe. He's impulsive and sometimes makes stupid decisions. I—" He seemed to think he'd said too much, because his mouth thinned and he shook his head.

Overhead, the crow cawed, and she glanced up at it, scowling.

"You'd better go. He doesn't seem to want more breadcrumbs."

That was true. She stuck her tongue out at the crow and then turned back to William. "I'll see you next week."

He flashed that half smile that made her feel a little dizzy. "I'll bring some breadcrumbs, too. Just in case."

"That would be handy. Until Tuesday, then."

She waved and then made her way to the path. As she stepped onto it, she glanced back. He wasn't reading as she'd expected, but was once again staring out over the pond, his book still open on his lap, the sun glinting blue off his dark hair.

Next week, he'd return, and when he did, she'd be here waiting. With an extra little lift to her step, she turned back toward the path and headed home.