“I know that, but are there any fields or hills?”
“There’s a stream.”
Her eyes lit up.“Will you show it to me?”
“If you wait here while I get dressed.You woke me up.”
“I’m glad,” she said without remorse.“No one should sleep away a day like this.”
“Is that you talking, or your daddy?”
“He said it first, but he’s right.Hurry, Cutter.I’m going to start off.Which way do I go?”
Cutter had visions of her getting lost.“You wait right there until I come back out, and if you don’t, I won’t take you anywhere.”After watching her for a minute to make sure she didn’t move, he went back inside for a shirt and sneakers.Then he took her into the woods in the direction of the stream.
It was a warm spring day.The sun dappled their path, playing through the maples and oaks that rose above them.Cutter went first, with Pam following, and rather than talk they let the knock of the woodpecker, the coo-hoo of the mockingbird, and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze say whatever needed to be said.When they reached the stream, Cutter hunkered down and, cupping his hands, sluiced the clear, cool water over his head.It was the second best thing to a shower for washing away the vestiges of the night.
Tossing back his head, he looked at Pam.She was squatting not far from him, trailing her fingers over the pebbles that glistened by the water’s edge.“I like it here,” she said.
So did he.It was peaceful.And quiet.Taking a deep breath, he straightened and went to lean against a nearby tree while she continued to run her fingers through the water.After a bit, she took a small pebble in her hand, stood and gently lobbed it toward the middle of the stream.It landed with a melodicplopthat sent out an echoingcircle.When the ripples were gone, she bent, picked up another pebble, and lobbed it after the first.
Over and over she did this, seeming fascinated with the way each circle spread and broke up.“Every one’s different,” she mused softly.
“That’s because of the flow of the current.If it’s a little faster or a little slower, a little to the left or the right, the ripples are different.”
“Like snowflakes.”
“Kind of.”
“Gone so fast.”
“Yes.”
“But so pretty.”
As Cutter watched her, listened to her, he marveled at her appreciation.It was hard to believe that her family was wealthy.She probably had a room full of pretty things all her own in Boston, and in Timiny Cove, too.That she should be entranced by ripples in a stream—and by snowflakes and by unpolished tourmaline crystals—was a tribute both to her and to Eugene.
Straightening, she wiped her damp hands on the seat of her pants.“I have to go, Cutter.”
He led the way back through the woods to where he’d tethered the horse.When she was up on its back again, she said shyly, “I liked that.Will you take me there again?”
He nodded.Taking the reins, he began to walk her down the rutted road.
“You don’t have to lead me.”
“Just to the main road.”
“You don’t have to, Cutter.”
But he did.Pam was Eugene’s daughter; she wasspecial.If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.He felt responsible for her.It was a new feeling, and not bothersome at all.
She must have sensed it, because she came to visit often after that.She always came alone, never stayed long, never made a pest of herself.She actually seemed afraid of taking too much of his time, which was amusing since he had neither family nor friends whose company he would prefer.He wanted to tell her to stay as long as she wanted and come back as soon as she could.But he didn’t.It didn’t seem appropriate.She was a little girl, seven years younger than he.He didn’t want people getting the wrong idea.
Their friendship was innocent.They didn’t even talk much at first.They explored the woods, or listened to Cutter’s radio, or simply sat on his front porch, and Cutter enjoyed it.A whirlwind of chatter with others, Pam was calm and undemanding with him.He liked to think that she liked him, that she liked his home, that she chose to be with him over all the other options she had.He knew she trusted him.He liked to think that she felt as good as he did after their visits.
Gradually they started to talk.It happened during the year Pam turned twelve, when, for several visits running, she wasn’t as ebullient as usual.Afraid that he’d done something wrong, that she was finding her visits with him a bore but didn’t know how to end them, he asked her about it.
“It’s nothing,” she said quietly.