Noah nodded, passed a hand over his face, and resumed sorting through the papers on the desk. “I’ve worked with him for six years now. I know, that’s a long time to be in school. I’m ABD by now, of course.” He looked at my blank face and kindly added, “All But Dissertation.” He sighed. “Who knows when I’ll finish now.”
I picked up the file box and moved it closer to the desk. “What’s your dissertation on, if I can ask?”
“I’ve been researching the Battle of Laurel Springs with Professor Burbridge, focusing on the nighttime events that led up to the decisive defeat of the British forces. I hope to write a narrative nonfiction account of the battle from the perspective of the D Company, the foot soldiers who discovered the ambushing troops before it was too late.” He gave me that tentative smile again. “You’re familiar with the details of the battle?”
“Sure, we learned about it in fifth grade, sixth grade, and every grade after that. Major Compton has more five-paragraph essays written about him than all other citizens of Laurel Springs combined.”
Noah laughed. “I’m only touching on him in my research, since I’m focusing on the foot soldiers. Burbridge was the source of cutting-edge research on the major.” He indicated the file box lid labeled “Major Samuel Compton.” “He’s got this explosive new theory that will shatter our understanding of the battle for all time. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” He fell silent.
I tried to remember what I’d learned about the battle, which had taken place in the middle years of the Revolutionary War. British troops had surprised Major Compton’s forces at night by adopting the Continental Army’s tactic of concealment rather than marching openly to battle. Many Continental soldiers died, including the major, but the British were finally defeated and the town was saved. Major Samuel Compton was hailed as a hero, with his statue on the Commons as proof. “What was this new theory?”
“Well, well, what have we here?” Randall advanced into the room, a wide smile on his face. Bypassing me, he held out a hand to Noah. “Randall Flint, Esquire. You look like you’re on a mission.”
They shook hands. “I’m packing up Professor Burbridge’s things to take back to the university.” He glanced sidelong at me. “I’m Noah Webster, one of Burbridge’s grad students.”
“Noah Webster, as in the dictionary?” Randall chuckled. “For real? I’ll bet you get a lot of comments on that.”
Noah flinched, as if he were ducking a blow. “People don’t even use dictionaries anymore.”
A surge of anger shot through me at Randall’s insensitivity. I turned to Noah with a big smile. “I’d love to talk to you more about all this. Could we get together sometime?”
“Sure, you can catch me at the university,” Noah said. “I’m usually around the history department.” He gathered up the rest of the papers on the desk and shoved them into the half-empty file box. “I’ll just get out of your way here.” He hurried out the door, hugging the box to his chest.
I went to follow him out, but Randall blocked my way without actually touching me. “Do you have a minute for a little chat, Daria?”
I didn’t want to waste even one minute on Randall, but I could see that he wasn’t going to leave me alone until he had his chance to talk. “What is it?”
He took my hand and drew me far enough into the library so that he could close the door behind me.
I wiggled my fingers free from his grasp. “What do you want?”
“I have a proposition for you.” He smiled down at me, evidently sure that I would jump at anything he proposed. “I passed by the old house, and had a hankering to live there once more.”
My jaw dropped. Live in my house? The two unoccupied bedrooms on my second floor popped into my mind. Did Randall seriously think he was going to move in with us? Not in this lifetime!
Randall didn’t notice my shock. “I was wondering if you’ve ever thought about selling the old place.” He favored me with his most winning smile. “If you haven’t, maybe I could convince you to think about it now.”
I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. “You want to buy my house?”
“I do. I’m thinking of settling in Laurel Springs after the wedding. It would be a fine place to bring a new bride home to.”
I managed to refrain from either slapping him in the face or laughing myself silly. “The house isn’t for sale. Sorry.” I checked my watch. “I need to get back to my curtains.”
Randall opened the door to allow me to pass. “Just think about it.” He touched my shoulder lightly as I passed him. “I could make it worth your while.”
I hustled down to the basement to retrieve my fabric from the dryer. Just what was he suggesting to make it worth my while? He could surely afford to pay for the house, but it sounded like he had something else in mind. If he thought I was pining after our broken relationship, he needed to have his head examined. But it didn’t matter anyway. The last thing I would ever do was to sell my beloved house to Randall.
I checked the time and then pulled out my phone to call Pete. “Can you come pick me up at Compton Hall? It’s getting late for the bus.”
He groaned. “The ball game just came on. You’ll make me miss the first inning.”
“Listen to it on the radio.” I hung up before he could protest any more.
Pete texted me barely five minutes later, “Here.” I grabbed my shoulder bag and hurried down the stairs. I ran out to his truck idling on the front drive and hopped into the passenger seat.
“Thanks for the ride. I owe you.”
He grinned at me. “I’m keeping a tab.” On the radio the excited voice of the baseball announcer celebrated a double.
I looked out the window, noticing that Pete was driving along the river rather than heading straight home. A nice drive to take us to the end of the inning, I supposed. I leaned back in my seat and watched the mountain laurels flash by. Their pink-and-white blossoms were spent now, but the hardy green shrub that gave our town its name still dominated the roadsides here along the river. The sight relaxed me so that I jumped when Pete spoke.
“So I wanted to ask you, what do you think about Ruth Ellis?”
“That old witch? Every time she so much as looks at me, she criticizes me. She and her sister couldn’t be more different.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Pete glanced at me sideways. “She’s a shady character. You remember she was accused of killing her husband in that fire seven years ago?”
“I remember some scandal about her husband’s death, but not the details. What was the deal?”
“I looked it up last night when you told me about the professor’s death. The Ellis house in Philadelphia caught fire and burned to the ground with her husband inside. It was ruled arson. Everyone thought she had died in the fire as well, but it turned out that she had unexpectedly spent the night at a hotel outside the city. Well, that looked suspicious. It didn’t help her case when she said they’d had a fight and she couldn’t stand to sleep under the same roof as him.” He turned off the river road at last and headed toward home. “She hired an expensive law firm and ended up being exonerated for the crime. But they never did find out who set the fire.”
“That expensive law firm didn’t have Flint in its name, did it?”
Pete grimaced. “Actually, it did. Flint, Perkinson and Hubbard. Randall’s dad did most of the work