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  I stopped when I reached the beach and pulled off my shoes, letting the sand tickle my toes. The warm breeze caressed my face, cooling my heated thoughts.

  Who is she to say the war is a foolish, selfish cause? She doesn’t have a patriotic bone in her body!

  I clenched my fist and slowly released it, breathing in. Easy does it, Allie.

  I glanced back up at Rachel Piper’s house on the hill. Someone was watching me from a window. Sam. I smiled at him and gave a little wave. He waved back, and the curtain fell into place.

  I went on my way, smiling as I walked. The sand had never felt nicer beneath my feet.

  “Allie, did you hang the clothes up on the line?”

  I looked up from my book to see Beatrice standing in the doorway of my room, frowning. She glanced at what was in my hands and rolled her eyes. “Allie,” The hint of a laugh lingered behind her voice. “How many times have I reminded you to take care of your responsibilities before you lose yourself in all those books for yours? I’ve always said that a girl who does chores has a future that soars.”

  I could hear her laugh fading down the hallway. I sighed and placed the Emily Dickinson volume on my nightstand. What was the real world created for anyway? The pretend world is so much nicer.

  I picked up the basket of laundry and headed to the yard. Darned chores.

  The screen door slammed behind me, causing a slight breeze to tickle the back of my legs. The grass felt warm beneath my bare toes as I reached up to pin a light-blue dress on the wire line.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled the fresh scent of the clean laundry. When I was little, hanging laundry was my favorite thing in the world to do. I chewed my lip. It was Mama’s too.

  Someone shouted, breaking my reverie. I looked up, but there was no one on the beach. My brow pinched. I thought I heard—

  There it was again — yelling. This time there was no doubt about it.

  I slowly stood, letting the laundry drop into the basket. The sound was coming from Rachel Piper’s house.

  The soft sand pillowed the thumping of my feet as I crept up the beach. I stood in Rachel’s yard, my lips pinched together. This is silly. Maybe I should …

  “What do you know?” Sam was shouting.

  I tip-toed across the yard and under the apple tree, wrapping my body against the bark for shelter. From my hiding place I could see the parlor window. The figures of Sam and Rachel Piper were facing each other, each silhouette looking hostile.

  Rachel’s voice rose as she took a step toward Sam. “You had better write her back or else I’ll …”

  “Or you’ll what? Send me away too?” Sam flung out an arm. “You think that sending me to another aunt or cousin or grandparent is going to solve anything? You think that she’ll honestly love me more if she doesn’t see me?” Sam turned his back to his aunt, his shoulders visibly shaking. His voice lowered, and I couldn’t hear him anymore.

  I felt like a snoop, standing in the middle of Sam’s garden, listening in on his heated conversations. Checking to make sure no one was at the windows, I turned on my heel and pushed away from the apple tree, hoping to sneak away without notice.

  “Allie?”

  My heart froze. I turned around slowly, my face already flushing.

  Sam was standing in front of me, a look of disbelief on his face. He took a step forward, and I noticed tear streaks were visible on his cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

  What am I doing here? I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I twisted the hem of my skirt and stepped back, feeling wretched. “I … I heard the voices and I thought …” Each word cracked as it left my throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

  I faced Beatrice’s house once again and began to run down the beach, heat spreading behind my eyelids. But it was only a matter of seconds before Sam was beside me, grabbing my shoulders.

  “Allie, wait.”

  I stopped and faced Sam. He gulped, sticking his hands in his pockets. Now that we were closer, I saw his eyes were puffy and his hair disheveled.

  I bit my lip and waited for him to speak. The hush between us seemed to stretch on forever, punctuated by the squawking seagulls above us.

  “You heard?” he whispered, avoiding my eyes.

  I shrugged. “I only heard a little.”

  He frowned and rubbed his face, looking like he was about to throw up.

  My own stomach began to roil. “You don’t have to —”

  “No.” The word came forcefully, made more powerful by the look in Sam’s eyes. “I just … I just didn’t want anyone to know. And, I mean, you of all people.” He kicked the sand, and I realized he was still wearing a pajama shirt.

  Well, no wonder. It can’t be past ten in the morning.

  “You want to go for a walk?” Sam asked, squinting at me. I followed him down the beach — I was almost afraid to leave him alone. Sam kept his eyes down until we had reached a point where his house was no longer visible. Then he took a shaky breath and stopped to face me.

  “Okay. Here’s what happened.” Sam’s eyes shot to mine. “Everything I told you … about my brother dying and my parent’s dissention toward the military … all that is true. But Robbie’s death isn’t what made me leave home. It was because —”Sam’s shoulders slumped. “The day after Robbie’s funeral, I signed up to join the army. When my mother found out, well, she was mad as a hornet. She stomped down to the office and argued with the staff until she was blue in the face. And she won, in the end. They denied my claims of volunteering, and my mother made it pretty clear that nothing like that was ever going to happen again.”

  Sam began to walk, taking long, even strides. I strained my shorter legs to keep up with him.

  “Mother and I began to argue. Over little things. She thought I was an ungrateful ingrate; I thought she was an overbearing tyrant.” Sam jammed a hand through his hair. “One thing led to another and then it was over. I finally made the decision to come and live with Aunt Rachel. I needed some …” He glanced at me out of the side of his eye. “Well, I heard you were here and I wanted to see you again.”

  I stared at him in silence for a moment. If I hadn’t just heard it, I never would have believed it: Sam Carroll—arguing with someone? Sam Carroll—holding hostile feelings toward someone? Not sweet Sam Carroll. And he’d never shown a hint of this turmoil around me.

  Sam was watching me, an uncertain look on his face. I shifted. He must want me to say something.

  I racked my brains for the right words. “Why?”

  Sam frowned. “What?” I’d already said it — I couldn’t take it back. I shrugged and asked again. “Why? Why did you argue with your mother? Why did you argue with your aunt?” The questions kept pouring out of my mouth. “Why did you argue with anyone at all?” I frowned. “It doesn’t seem like you.”

  Sam fell silent, but he began to walk again. “I don’t know,” he muttered after awhile. “I guess it really just got to me. I mean, she was treating me like a child. If Robbie was man enough to make his own decisions and die for his country, then so was I.” He slowed, and caught my eye. “I’m eighteen, you know. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Yeah, but does your mom realize that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I paused to pick up a seashell. I turned the shell over and examined the swirls. “When Mama was sick, she used to forget how old I was almost constantly. One minute I’d be her protector and provider; the next minute I was a helpless little child, dependent on her care.” I tucked the shell into my pocket and smiled at Sam. “I guess all parents are like that, though. They don’t really see time the same way we do. You are your mother’s baby, and you always will be, whether you’re eighteen or eighty.”

  Sam sighed, his blue eyes clouding over. “I just don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to answer her letters, or ring her up on the telephone, or see her face again. At least for now.”

  “Oh.” My mouth quivered. I focused on a spot on Sam�
�s pajama shirt, just above his shoulder. “You know …” My eyes blurred. “You should be thankful you have a mother. I wish every day that —” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’d do anything to talk to my mother again.”

  Sam reached out and touched my shoulder. “Well, you have Beatrice. And she cares about you, I can tell.”

  I swallowed. It was true. Beatrice cared about me every bit as much as Mama and she even … My mouth went dry. What am I thinking? “Beatrice is not my mother,” I said, more to myself than him. I flinched away from his touch.

  He dropped his hand and stuck it in his pocket. “Sorry.” He squinted at me, looking ashamed.

  My mouth twitched. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to react like that. It’s just …” I lowered my eyes. “I don’t like to think about it.” Because you know what you’ve always thought about Beatrice isn’t true. I kicked at the sand. If it isn’t true, then I don’t have reason to fight anymore.

  I took a ragged breath. “Well, I guess we’re in the same boat. We’re both stuck in someone else’s house and we both just want to be free to make our own decisions.”

  “Yeah.” Sam grinned. “I guess we kind of need each other.”

  My stomach tingled. This is bad. This is not what it should be. I frowned fiercely, turning to walk back toward the houses. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all.”

  I licked my sugary, lemonade-soaked lips and leaned my head against the porch post. The sky was bluer than the ocean—a light, jewel-toned blue. What would it be like to wear a necklace made of sky stones? I tossed the idea around in my mind, smiling to myself.

  A beat-up truck pulled in the driveway, slinging gravel. It rolled to a stop, and Sam stuck his mussed head out of the window. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He motioned to the truck. “Want to go for a ride? I thought we could do your mom a favor and pick up some stuff from town.”

  “She’s not —”

  “I know, I know.” Sam waved an arm. “She’s not your mom.”

  A smile twitched in the corner of my mouth. “I was going to say she’s not home right now. But I can telephone her at Mrs. Wilkinson’s house.” I pushed open the screen door and went inside, putting my empty glass in the sink before calling Beatrice.

  “Come on!” Sam shouted.

  “Can I at least put on my shoes?” The horn sounded in answer, so I grabbed the footwear I’d left on the porch and ran down the gravel driveway, sliding as gracefully as possible into the passenger seat. As the vehicle shifted into gear, I patted the door. “This thing looks like it belongs in Tennessee, not Maine.”

  Sam smiled, pulling out of the driveway. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in Tennessee. You might be surprised.” He headed toward town. “Well? What’s on the list?”

  “She needs baking powder and paint thinner.”

  “Paint thinner?” Sam exclaimed.

  “I think we’re painting the shed or something.”

  “Oh.”

  I didn’t look at him, staring out the window instead. Quaint New England houses sped past us, surrounded by splotches of green. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in Tennessee … “Has it changed?” I asked in a low voice.

  “What? Tennessee?” He gripped the steering wheel. “No.”

  My heart pinched. Those beautiful Tennessee hills … I wiped my eye with a sleeve and hoped it was discreet. “Well, I’m glad.”

  Sam nodded. “It’s good to know some things don’t change.”

  A sudden thought flashed across my mind. I opened my mouth, almost afraid to ask the question. “And my house?” I whispered. “Have you seen it lately?”

  Sam turned and met my eyes as we rolled to a stop before a stop sign. “I used to drive past it every day. It hasn’t changed much.”

  The next words were hard to say. “Is someone living there now?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. But they’re good people. They’ve still got your cat, Daphne, and she’s fat as can be. I still give her a good head rub when I run across her in the woods sometimes. She seems pretty happy.”

  His eyes suddenly seemed like gleaming sapphires. I closed my eyes and forced myself to swallow. “Thanks.”

  A car behind us honked. Sam looked away and muttered something under his breath, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to stop at stop signs,” he explained, as if I was the angry one. “It’s the law.”

  I focused on the window so Sam couldn’t see me laughing to myself. Within minutes we rolled into town and pulled up in front of the hardware store. With some effort I pushed the truck door open and hopped out, slamming it behind me.

  When we reached the shop, Sam made a point of rushing ahead and holding open the entrance, and for once didn’t bow. Little bells jingled as we entered.

  The man behind the counter spotted Sam and nodded, motioning for us to come to the front. “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”

  “We need paint thinner. For her.” Sam jerked his head in my direction.

  I pressed a hand against my mouth, holding back a smile. Does he realize how ridiculous he looks when he’s trying to look tough?

  Sam glared at me and turned back to the clerk. The man shook his head. “Sorry, all out.”

  “What?” we both asked at the same time. I glanced at Sam. He set his jaw and leaned against the counter. “Where can we get some?”

  The clerk shrugged. “There’s a little farm outside of town that usually carries paint. I can give them a telephone call if you like.”

  Sam nodded, and the man disappeared in the back of the store. I strummed my fingers on the counter, the smile again threatening to break through.

  “They have some in their barn,” the clerk said, coming back to the desk. “Here is the address.” He handed Sam a piece of paper.

  Sam looked at it and winced slightly. “Thanks.” He turned and paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “Oh, and can we have some baking powder?” After he paid for the powder, we left the shop, and I tried to get a glimpse of the paper Sam was holding.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as we climbed into the truck. “This looks like another half-hour drive.”

  “That’s okay. I’m in no hurry to get back.”

  He started up the engine and pulled out of town. Once the buildings were behind us, the open countryside seemed to engulf us in pools of green. I leaned my forehead against the glass, content. “I haven’t been driving out here in a while.”

  “It’s pretty,” Sam said.

  I nodded, and let the silence carry us for a while. “Remember when we were little?” I asked, grinning. “We used to go out to the hills — or, rather, you followed me out to the hills when I went there to draw. I used to think you were in love with me.”

  Sam smiled. “I was. Madly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And what, pray tell, made you so utterly crazy about me? Was it my scabby legs? My scowling brow?” I wiggled my eyebrows.

  Sam shook his head. “No, I think it was more your mystery.”

  The giggle died in my throat. I ran my finger along the seat, tracing little circles. “What do you mean?”

  Sam pressed his lips together and kept his eyes on the road. “You were always so … reclusive. The kids at school used to call you a witch or something, and say your mom was possessed and you had cast a spell on her.” He cracked a small smile and glanced at me. “I didn’t believe in your ability to cast spells until the first time I snuck over to your house and watched you. I think I was five years old. And I was in love from that day on.”

  “Really? Oh, that’s so sweet.” I elbowed his ribs. “Tell me more.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You really are so humble.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. I also thought you were pretty. And I thought you played the piano well. And your garden was the most beautiful heaven on earth.”

  “It was not.” I twirled a piece of hair around my f
inger, enjoying the conversation.

  Sam glanced at me. “Was too. And you were always writing in that little journal of yours. I used to imagine what you wrote in it, and always thought up the wildest stuff.” His voice lowered a little. “You were also so kind to your mother. That day we went on a picnic and she …” He trailed off and began humming, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, it was a long time ago.”

  I looked away and tried to ignore my beating heart. The green grass whizzed by, blurring in my mind.

  We pulled in front of a little homestead in the middle of the countryside, which Charlie would have squealed over. Even I had to admit it was cute.

  “Stay here.” Sam swung out the door and headed for the barn. Within minutes, he was hauling back a tin of thinner and two cans of paint, placing them in the bed of the truck. “All taken care of,” he said, climbing back into the seat.

  I turned and frowned. “Sam, how much did those cost?”

  He shrugged. “Not much.”

  “Seriously. I have to pay you back.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “No need. I like Beatrice too. I mean … We both like Beatrice. Her shed is really pretty, but it could stand some paint, and I figured I might as well pick out a nice color for the two of you while we’re here.”

  “Sam, I can’t …”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t talk about it anymore.”

  We drove until the farm was a little spot in the distance, and then not visible at all. The lush fields surrounded us; the long grasses swayed in the wind. I leaned toward the open window and smiled, feeling the wind on my cheek. My dark hair whipped my eyes.

  The air smelled sweet — like sunshine and flowers and … smoke? I wrinkled my nose. “Sam, do you smell something burning?” The truck began to sputter, smoke pouring from the hood. Sam groaned and pulled over to the side of the road. “Oh man …” He kicked open his door and popped open the hood. The engine sizzled, more acrid vapor filling the air.

  I hopped out of the truck and stood by Sam, placing my hands on my hips. “Well, that’s a fine mess.”

  Sam looked at me miserably. “I’m sorry. I’ll just have to …” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck.