“Didn’t you attend the local school?”
“Not for long. Polio delayed my enrollment, and once I did go, I was bullied because I was older than all the other children in my grade and I limped. Plus, as you know from your research, by then Paw Paw French had become associated with poverty and backwardness, so it was forbidden on school property. My father didn’t take kindly to that, or to the bullying. He pulled me out, homeschooled me, and taught me the language. It was all we spoke around the house.”
“No wonder you’re proficient at it.”
“I’m a bit rusty now, but it’s coming back as we work on the journals.” She looked toward the door as Lydia opened it and peeked in. “Are we keeping you from cleaning in here?”
“I can do it later.”
“No need to delay. We’re finished for the day and were just chatting.” Natalie stood, bracing herself for a moment on the edge of the table. Then she carried the journal over tothe large desk and slid it into a drawer with its companions. “You’ll have the room to yourself until I come back here to work after my nap.”
“I’ll be done by then.” Lydia retreated.
As Natalie started toward the door, Cara stood and followed behind.
What sort of work did Natalie do in here, sequestered away, each day? Though she’d referred to it in passing on several occasions, she’d never offered any details.
Tempted as Cara was to ask a few questions, respecting boundaries was important. What her benefactor did in the hours outside their project was none of her business.
But it was curious nonetheless—and one more mystery that would perhaps be solved before her sojourn here ended.
She and Natalie parted in the hall, and Cara continued through the kitchen, out the back door, and down the path toward the cottage, scanning the sky as she walked.
The rain that had accompanied yesterday’s storm had passed, but the skies remained leaden gray, suggesting another storm was imminent. While the parched earth could use the moisture, driving all the way to Cape in a downpour wouldn’t be—
She halted as the cottage came into sight around the curve in the path.
Had something just darted into the forest at the back corner? A deer, perhaps?
That was possible. They were abundant in the area.
Yet somehow that explanation didn’t feel right.
She continued forward slowly, peering into the woods.
At first, only leaves registered. But at a sudden glint, she homed in on the source.
Halted again.
A shaggy-haired man of indeterminate age stood in the shadows, an ax in his hand.
Her heart stuttered, and she took an involuntary step back.
In the next instant, the man melted into the woods and disappeared.
She, on the other hand, remained frozen in place.
Could that be Micah, the antisocial groundskeeper Natalie had mentioned?
It must be. Who else would be wandering about the premises with an ax?
A shiver rippled through her despite the warmth in the air, and she rubbed her upper arms.
What was his story? Why did he avoid people?
Could he even be ... dangerous?
No.
