Page 69 of Charlotte

Peterson walked slightly ahead of her, then stopped. Ahead, the path rose unevenly near a cluster of rocks.

“There’s a root.”

“I see it.”

“Your skirt might not.”

He stepped aside and held out his left hand.

The offer was plain. Practical. No flourish, no gallant speech, no claim. Only his hand, which was waiting between them.

Lottie placed her gloved fingers in his.

His grip closed carefully around hers.

Steady. Warm. Stronger than she expected and gentler than he seemed to trust himself to be. He helped her over the root, then another stone, and when she reached level ground, his hand remained around hers for one breath longer than necessary.

Not by accident, but not quite by intention either, perhaps.

Lottie looked down at their joined hands. Peterson noticed and released her at once.

“Ground’s uneven,” he said.

“Yes.”

He kept walking. Lottie followed, her fingers remembering the shape of his grip long after the touch had ended.

The meadow opened above the churchyard in a wash of green and blue-purple blooms. Camas flowers lifted slender and bright among the grasses. Pink blossoms half-open to the sun, wild roses climbed along a rough edge where the trees began again. Bees worked busily among them with more purpose than the Busy Bees themselves.

Lottie forgot to speak.

Peterson watched her from the side of the path. “This is it.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a meadow.”

“It is a beautiful meadow.”

He did not argue, though she had the feeling he wanted to.

She kneeled carefully near the camas, setting the botany book on a flat stone and opening her papers. Peterson crouched several feet away and pointed out the shape of the leaves, the stem, the way the blossoms clustered. He did not crowd her. He let her draw the flower herself, correcting only when she looked at him.

“That line should be longer,” he said once.

“You may say my flower looks like a feather duster if it does.”

“It does not.”

“That was not very convincing.”

“Only because it looks more like a church bell.”

Lottie looked down at her drawing, then up at him.

His face gave nothing away. Then she saw the corner of his mouth betray him. She gave a little laugh.

“You are teasing me.”