Mr. Grinnell joined the discussion as the Judge paused to take a long drink of water. “Surely you are not suggesting that we parcel out land to everyone who enters our great country simply because they were refused that luxury at home.”
“That would be absurd.” The older man raised an eyebrow. “I’m saying that America has always attracted those who wanted to own their own farms, ranches, orchards, and vineyards. Those things require land and many acres of it. Some have managed the same acreage for generations and do so with great pride. In turn, we are the beneficiaries of their hard work.”
At least Mr. Grinnell had the fortitude to look a bit embarrassed at his ridiculous assertion. The Judge folded his hands on the table in front of him.
“As I’ve mentioned, I am supportive of making national parks and all that they have to offer. I support state lands and federal preserves that will see the beauty go on unspoiled.However”—he cleared his throat—“I am also in support of private land ownership and will remain so. I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. Especially if it limited the number of dinner rolls served at my table.” He grabbed another roll.
“Well said, husband.” Marvella held up her glass, and the little dog dancing around her chair yipped. She pinched off a piece of a dinner roll and tossed it to the pup. “Sir Theophilus agrees as well.”
The men chuckled, and the tension eased as the discussion shifted to other topics.
But Eleanor kept thinking about what the Judge said. On a small scale, his points made sense. Yet she still couldn’t agree with large-scale land ownership and never would. The land belonged to everyone. Americans, no matter their social status, should be able to experience the awe of Yosemite, with its sharp mountains and lush pine trees. To see the beautiful Half Dome rock jutting into a sky painted with a pastel pink sunrise. Vivid memories of geysers gushing forth water from the ground and bighorned sheep prancing across rocks and streams filtered through her memory. It was as near a sin to fence it off solely for personal use as it would be to steal paintings from the great art museums and take them home for private adoration.
She pressed her lips together. No wonder that Carter Brunswick should be involved in such a thing.
Carter Brunswick.
Just one meeting with the infuriating man and he’d infiltrated her thoughts, no matter how hard she’d tried to keep him out of her mind. Her mouth tipped down as she recalled his reprimand of her manners—or lack thereof. She sniffed. If there was anyone in that argument who needed to learn manners it was him. His familiarity in using her nickname, his teasing her when they didn’t even know each other—unconscionable! And did the man think she hadn’tnoticed how deliberately he’d signed his name and looked over his papers?
Some men would do anything to make a point.
She would consign all thought of him to the deep ... if only that smiling, handsome—albeit bruised—face would stop invading her thoughts!
Wait.Handsome?Oh good heavens! He was decidedlynothandsome. And even if he was,shecertainly wasn’t attracted to twinkling blue eyes framed by laugh lines, and light brown hair tousled by the wind—
Heat crept up her cheeks and she closed her eyes.Eleanor! Collect yourself!
She sipped her water, then lifted her fingers to smooth her furrowed brow. Such a line of thought simply wouldn’t do. Even if Carter Brunswickwashandsome, he was on the wrong side. A ruffian to boot.
She lifted her chin. It was decided.
She simply would not tolerate him. Or further thoughts of him.
And that was final.
“Mother, that was a mighty fine supper.” Carter stood and walked over to where his mother was seated and kissed her cheek. “But I need to get back to town before it’s dark.”
“I wish you could stay longer. I do so enjoy hearing about all that’s happening.”
“Well, Dad can fill you in more about the meeting.”
“I wish those men would learn how to control themselves. There is no sense in brawling in the streets.” She laid downher napkin and crossed her arms over her chest. “Just look at your face.”
“Well, it’s a weighty subject.” How did he get himself out of this one? “Oh, I did meet some new folks today. The men are conservationists and there’s a young lady with them. The daughter of one of the men is a sassy little thing. Blond hair and blue eyes. Stands about yea tall”—he pointed to his shoulder—“and rides a bicycle.”
“A bicycle? How interesting.” His mother began to clear the table. “Sounds like she made an impression.”
Carter rested his elbows on the table. His change of subject could prove to be worse than the first. But Ellie was becoming the first thing that came to mind. He needed to tread carefully, or Mom would have them married with kids in no time. “I suppose she did. She was rude and a little on the obnoxious side of things. I was talking to Gus and trying to find out if my part came in and she just sashayed up and interrupted us. Thought her needs were more important and wasn’t afraid to say so.”
“And did this sassy young woman have a name?” The cheer in his mother’s voice as she scraped the plates was almost comical.
Carter groaned. His mother had been less than subtle in recent months about him settling down. It wasn’t as if he was avoiding marriage. But it hadn’t been a priority. Not with figuring out how to run his own mill. All his time and attention had been focused on making the mill successful. And with the railroad trouble now, he didn’t have time to seek out a wife. Mark’s assertion that he’d been waiting for God to plop the right woman in his lap probably wasn’t too far off the truth. Not that he would admit it.
“I’m heading out to take care of a few things before bed.” Dad headed for the kitchen door. “Good to have you here, son. See you tomorrow.”
“Good-night, Dad. Love you.”
Dad turned around and grinned. “Love you too. But you better escape while you still can.” His loud whisper from behind his hand gained him a swat from Mother’s kitchen towel.
