Page 68 of Charlotte

“She died when I was twelve,” Lottie added. “My father eleven days later.”

His hand closed slightly on the book.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She traced the edge of the page. “I think sometimes I remember her most clearly in bits. A teapot. A hymn. The way she folded the sheets. Nothing large enough to feel like a proper memory until all at once it does.”

Peterson looked toward the open door, where the summer light lay warm across the threshold. “Aye.”

Lottie took a slow breath. “Would you show me the meadow? The one where the camas grows?”

His head turned back. “Now?”

“Not if you need to return to camp.”

“I need to return soon.”

“Perhaps another time.”

He looked at the doorway again, then at the botany book, then at the field pages waiting on the table. Lottie did not press. She was learning Peterson did not like doors pushed open. He had to decide for himself whether to step through.

After a moment, he picked up his hat. “The meadow is above the churchyard. It isn’t far.”

Her heart lifted. “May I bring paper?”

“Bring the book, too. If you mean to prove it wrong, you’ll want evidence.”

“I would never gloat over a book’s errors.” His brows rose. “Not unkindly,” she amended.

He almost smiled again.

They left the meeting hall together in full view of Main Street, which meant within three minutes Mrs. Beck saw them from the bakery window and waved with excessive delight. Lottie waved back. Peterson did not.

“You could wave,” she said.

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

“I have chosen not to.”

“On principle?”

“Self-preservation.”

Lottie laughed. “You make Mrs. Beck sound dangerous.”

“She once sent a man to camp with a basket, three notes, and instructions for courtship.”

“That does sound serious.”

“He married within the month.”

“Then perhaps she is effective.”

“Danger often is.”

They crossed behind the church and climbed the narrow path toward the meadow. Wild grass brushed Lottie’s skirt. The air smelled of sun-warmed earth and pine. The town’s sounds fell behind them by degrees, replaced by birds, wind, and the distant river working its way over stones.