Margaret from Maine (9781101602690) Read Online Free PDF Page A

hotel in the morning, like an appropriate ice-breaking gesture.
Why not?
he thought when he purchased the items in the hotel lobby. He particularly liked the meerkat, which seemed to take an interest in the ride out to the farm, its button eyes glowing with the lovely spring scenery as if actually alive. He tucked the meerkat under his left elbow, the same hand that held the flowers.
    On the short walk up to the porch, he smelled the heavy odor of cows and manure. He also smelled lilacs and something less familiar that he could not name. He turned a little to see if he could spot its origin, but he came away with the general impression of a farm and little else. He saw sheep fencing and a faded red barn; three Barred Rock chickens pecking in the field beyond the barn; and black and white cattle—Holsteins, he thought—grazing on the spring grass.
    When he turned back, an older man stood on the porch, watching him.
    â€œThis is the right place,” the man said. “Did you find it okay?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Charlie answered.
    â€œWell, you’re right on time. Margaret should be ready in a jot.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Charlie climbed the steps, aware of his leg not behaving properly as he did so. He felt the tiniest bit unsettled that the man had appeared on his porch so soundlessly. But the man had a kind face and held out his hand.
    â€œI’m Ben Kennedy,” the man said. “The boy up at the hospital is my son.”
    â€œAn honor to meet you, sir,” Charlie said and meant it.
    Charlie had never felt a hand with more work in it.
    â€œI was going to come down to Washington, but we have the cattle to care for,” Ben Kennedy said. “You thank the people for asking me, though.”
    â€œYes, sir, I will.”
    The man turned and called softly into the doorway.
    â€œCome on now,” the man said. “Don’t keep the gentleman waiting.”
    A boy came out first. He pushed open the door, obviously excited, but then became shy in the next heartbeat. The boy turned and held the door, waiting, though he glanced quickly at the meerkat and then looked back into the house. The boy, Charlie saw, wore clean khaki shorts and a sweatshirt. His hair was cut short and he had a child’s tan even this early in the season. He looked fresh and wholesome. A country boy, Charlie thought.
    The woman following the boy through the door caught him by surprise.
    She was younger, for one thing, than he expected. He quickly did the math—adding together a husband in the service, a young child—and realized she was essentially his age. Call it twenty-seven or – eight, thirty at the outside. Charlie was not sure why he had assumed she would be older. Perhaps it had been in her phone voice, he thought, or maybe it was merely the idea that someone living on a farm with a child in Maine was likely to be older. That made no sense whatsoever, and perhaps betrayed a slight prejudice against rural people on his part, but his mind, always fair when it grasped the facts, rapidly made the necessary revisions. His mind was further pushed in that direction by the woman’s beauty. Prepared as he was to behave in his official capacity, he could not ignore her loveliness. She did not dazzle. No one would mistake her for a runway model or a social climber down in the District of Columbia, yet he could not remember feeling so attracted to a woman in a long time. Part of the attraction, he imagined, came from the sense of the house, the open door into a fine old parlor, the sight of the boy leaning on the screen door, the benevolent father-in-law beaming his good wishes. She reminded him of a woman in a painting—was it Andrew Wyeth’s pictures of Christina?—her beauty somehow matched to the landscape. She possessed a natural lightness, a grace fortified by the ease with which she moved through the open doorway. Her hand reached out and brushed her boy’s hair,