She patted the bark of the tree closest to her. “This is a poplar. Good for firewood, not so good for building, because it tends to twist. Do you have poplars in Ontario?” Silly question. Of course they did.
“Aspens.”
“Oh, right, trembling aspens. I love that name. My mother told me it comes from the way the leaves are attached. There’s something unusual about the stem that makes them shake and flutter in the breeze.”
He had the most intense eyes. They had been intense at Daniel’s the first day, especially when he heard her name. They had been intense yesterday while he stood with Treasure Island in his hand. They were intense now, in a way that confused her. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or putting her under a microscope, and if he was putting her under a microscope she had no idea why.
“My cousins and I used to climb these poplars on windy days. We’d pretend we were up in the rigging of a tall ship out on the ocean. Cartier’s ship, usually, or pirates off Newfound-land’s coast. The tops of the trees swayed so much you could just about get seasick.” She was talking quickly, and a lot. Chances were her attempt at a casual retreat hadn’t fooled him.
“Sounds like fun. The girl cousins, I suppose?”
“Susannah and Liz.”
“Daniel told me about the three of you. They both left and you stayed. No wanderlust?”
“They had good reasons to leave. I didn’t.”
“Did you have reasons to stay?”
“Why would I need reasons? I live in a beautiful place with clean air and clean water. We produce most of our own food. We know exactly what’s in it and on it. I love my job, I love my family, and they love me.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“It is.”
“Except for the archives?”
“That’s a little thing.” She patted the poplar again, encouraging him to focus, the way she did with six-year-old boys in the library.
“So,” she said, her voice sounding too much like a teacher’s, “the woods at the Rutherford place would have been exactly like this. My grandmother might have pictures. I’ll call her later today and ask.”
He kept looking at her, evaluating, adding and subtracting, amused, and then he allowed his attention to be redirected to the trees around them. She could see that unlike the six-year-old boys in the library, he was only humoring her.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE BELL OVER the door jingled when Matthew went into the post office the next morning. The place had just opened but there were already a number of customers inside and, if he wasn’t mistaken, half of them were Robbs. Four men, two older and two younger, visibly related, clumped together at the far end of the grocery counter drinking coffee from takeout cups, visiting as if they were in one of their own kitchens. They noted his arrival, then ignored him.
A woman with her back to the door sorted mail. She smoked while she worked, keeping two fingers busy with the cigarette and managing envelopes and flyers with the other three.
“Good morning,” Matthew said.
The hand came up, telling him he would have to wait. From a distance she looked young, with one of those unnaturally red hair colors. Up close, her neck and hands and the way she stood gave a more realistic idea of her age. Late sixties, he guessed. This must be Virginia Marsh. Born in Three Creeks, widowed at thirty. Bought the store in ’72 and finished paying off the mortgage just twelve years later.
While he waited he half listened to the conversation by the coffeemaker. One of the older men was saying something about looking on the bright side. His voice became louder as he made his point, confident and nostalgic.
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