All for a Song Read Online Free Page B

And me? I get to move into that old, run-down parsonage behind the church.”
    “Donny’s seeing the world because his britches are too bigto come home. And I’m in St. Louis because my husband is here. That’s my place. I had no idea you were struck with such wanderlust.”
    “I’m not.” For reassurance, Dorothy Lynn sat up straight and gave her head a vigorous shake. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than my first case of pre-wedding jitters.”
    Just then the comfortable, low buzz on the line played host to a faint click, and Dorothy Lynn knew the line had been opened to a third ear.
    “Enough about all this,” she effused. “Ma told me to ask if you’re drinking enough milk.”
    “Tell her I’m becoming a cow myself.”
    “And the boys? They still growin’?”
    “RJ can climb up to the cookie jar all by himself, and Darren has peeled the wallpaper off one half of the playroom.”
    “And to think, there’s one more on the way. And Roy? How’s business?”
    “Couldn’t be better. He’s thinkin’ he’ll be hiring another salesman. Hey, maybe if that other situation doesn’t come through, you can move up here and sell cars.”
    They said their good-byes, and Dorothy Lynn returned the earpiece to its cradle. The last bit of the Clark Bar was more than an average bite, but she stuffed it all in and crumpled the wrapper in her hand. A local farmer in his Sunday overalls shuffled past her, eyes down, and closed the louvered door. Jessup maintained his place at the counter and tipped an invisible hat as she left, her cheeks full of candy.

The minute she stepped away from what was known as “town,” Dorothy Lynn slipped her shoes off in favor of the cool earth beneath her feet. She hooked the two straps over one finger, where they dangled as listless as her steps. The other hand held the unfinished verse of the poem she’d written during the church service. Boundaries and lines, fences and lots. Portions. Enough.
    Tall trees encroached on the path toward home, swallowing up the town behind her. She knew the path by heart, of course, and memories called to her mind what her eyes couldn’t see. The large stone around the next bend. The tree that was split in half when lightning struck it last spring. When the birth of his second child had forced Pa to move from the single-bedroom parsonage, the parishioners had tried to get him to build a house in town, but he clung to what privacy his family could have.
    My lot is a tiny clearing, nestled in the pine.
    For Ma, it was enough, though she’d once lived in North Carolina, where she’d actually seen a horizon where water touched the sky.
    If my portion were an ocean, would I be satisfied?
    Her brother certainly hadn’t been. He’d crossed oceans onships and had even drunk wine on the streets of Paris, France. Heron’s Nest would never be enough for him. The way he sounded in his infrequent letters, no place yet was worthy to be his lot. For him, the world was an endless portion of adventure. His last postcard—Christmas, before Pa died—was from Seattle. How could it be that the Lord could be so generous with Donny, dole out his life with an open hand, and squeeze her and her inheritance in one tight fist?
    She was humming to herself, mind locked on the question, when Brent stepped into her path—something she realized only when she bumped into him.
    “You looked like you were a million miles away,” he said once she’d steadied herself.
    “Nope. Just here.” She tapped the side of her head. “Thinkin’ about the sermon.”
    “It was a good one, if I dare say so myself.”
    “You dare.”
    He sounded uncharacteristically nervous. She noted the large basket in his hand.
    “Your mother packed us a picnic. I thought, if it’s all right with you, we could have some time together. Alone.”
    “Didn’t we have time alone last night? Ma might get suspicious.”
    “It . . . um . . . was your mother’s idea.”
    Her feet seemed rooted to