“Lucy!” She whirled at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. “It’s time to leave.”
“Good-bye, Daniel. Thank you—” But before Lucy could finish, Grandmother Garner gripped her arm and yanked her away.
“Why in the world were you talking to that person?” Her voice sounded as cold and hard as the monument stone. “Don’t you know it’s unseemly to talk to such people?”
“He was telling me about Daddy. He said that Daddy rescued him from the flood and saved his life.”
“You can’t believe a word those people say. They’ll tell you anything to win your trust.”
“But it’s true, Grandmama. Danny’s father died in the flood, too. He was helping Daddy save people. I saw his name on the marker.”
Grandmother didn’t seem to be listening. “It’s bad enough that your mother fraternizes with those people, which is why she isn’t invited to all of the places that you and I are. But you mustn’t ruin it for yourself the way she did. Come along now.”
Lucy glanced over her shoulder as her grandmother led her away, but Daniel Carver had disappeared in the milling crowd. As Lucy rode home in the carriage, her heart felt lighter in spite of the somber occasion and the memories it had evoked. For the first time in her life, she had met someone who understood the loss she had lived with for so many years—someone who understood that a father couldn’t be remembered in a granite marker and flowered wreaths.
Lucy was reading a book in her room a few evenings later when one of the servants interrupted her. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Lucy, but there is someone at the back door asking to speak with you. He is not a respectable gentleman and I refused to let him in the house, but he insisted that I—”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“Yes, Miss Lucy. Daniel Carver.” Lucy’s skin prickled and warmed as if she had stepped into a tub of steaming water. “Shall I send him away, Miss Lucy?”
“No! I’ll speak with him.” Lucy found it hard not to run. She used the servants’ stairs to get to the back door, aware that her grandmother would never allow Danny into her house, nor would she want Lucy speaking with him. She couldn’t say exactly what drew her, but her heart raced as if she had run up all those steps instead of down them.
Danny Carver smiled when he saw her, his admiration as clear as his gaze, then he snatched off his hat and lowered his head. “Excuse me for bothering you again, Miss Garner, but after we talked the other day I remembered something that’s been eating at me all these years.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small lump of wood, handing it to her. It took Lucy a moment to recognize it as a toy boxcar just like the one that had belonged to her little wooden train.
“It’s yours,” he said. “I stole it from your playroom eleven years ago. I’ve felt sorry about it ever since and more than a little guilty, but I was too ashamed to walk all the way up here and return it to you. Besides, my life was . . . Well, things were pretty hard after the flood. But anyway, I wanted to give it back to you. I knew it was wrong to steal.”
“Then why did you take it?”
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. She followed him as he turned and walked a few paces into the garden, then hoisted himself onto the low stone wall. She remained standing.
“I don’t really know why I took it. But this house, all your toys and things, all the food . . . it felt like a dream. I guess I wanted something that would help me remember that it was real. Then when I found out we’d lost everything in the flood . . . I don’t know, but for a long time that little boxcar was the only thing I owned. My father was dead, and it reminded me of him for some reason. And I didn’t want to forget him.”
“To tell you the truth, I never even noticed it was missing. I had so much more.” She spun one of the little wooden wheels with her finger, aware that she took for granted her way of life and all her possessions. It occurred to her that she was the one who should feel guilty, not Daniel.
Lucy was silent for so long that Daniel finally slid off the wall, brushing dirt from the seat of his pants, and said, “I guess I should go.”
“No, wait! I-I enjoyed talking with you the other day.”
He smiled his crooked grin. “Yeah, me too.”
“Tell me more about yourself. Where do you live now? What’s your life like?”
“There isn’t much to tell. I’ve worked in the brickyard for the past six years—”
“Six years? How old are you? And what about school?”
His only reply was a shake of his head as he hoisted his lanky body onto the wall again. “I live in a boardinghouse in New Town— that’s the workingman’s part of town that they built to replace The Flats. And I’m twenty.”
“Do you live all alone? What about your family?”
“I don’t have one, really. My baby sister died the first winter after the flood, and my brother, Jake, has been on his own almost as long as I have. We don’t see our mother much.”
The tragedy he had faced made Lucy feel ashamed of her pampered life. She was glad that the darkness hid her flushed cheeks. “Why did you let me go on and on about not having a seventh birthday party or a new pony?”
“Because I don’t think grief and loss are something you can measure, Miss Garner. We both have a hole in our childhood where our fathers used to be, and that makes us alike, no matter how different we are.”
“Please, call me Lucy.”
“If you want.” Except for his first glance, Danny had averted his eyes the entire time he’d talked to her, as if he’d been taught that laborers didn’t look wealthy young ladies in the eye. But he looked at her now in a way that made her heart pound.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked. He shook his head, his gaze still fastened on her. Lucy knew how to make polite conversation, but she struggled for something to say. “Do you enjoy your work?”
“Not really. It’s boring and backbreaking. But I consider myself lucky to have a job at all. Especially with all the new immigrants coming to town who would gladly do my job for less money.”
“Is there some other job you’d rather have in the future?”
He scratched his head. “I guess I just don’t think that way, Lucy. I know what you’re really trying to ask—what am I looking forward to in the future, what do I hope for and all that. You mentioned yesterday that you were graduating from school soon, so I assume you’re looking forward to starting something new. But things don’t work that way for people like me. If we have a decent job, we hang on to it. Maybe we’ll wind up as foreman someday and make a little extra money, maybe not. But from where I stand, the future looks pretty much like the present, so why waste time trying to see into it?”
His words appalled Lucy. “How can you live without hope?”
He gave his now-familiar shrug. “I guess you don’t miss what you never had.”
“You’ve lived your entire life without hope?”
“Pretty much. I used to hope that my father would come back, but that didn’t get me anywhere. And for a while I hoped that my mother would change, but . . .” He looked away.
“Let me help you, Danny. I can talk to our foreman at the tannery and see if he can get you a better job, and—”
He held up his hands to stop her. “Don’t start down that road, Lucy. It isn’t going to take me anywhere. Believe me, I know.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“Listen, why don’t you tell me more about your life?”
“Because it seems shallow and selfish beside yours.”
“I would still like to hear about it. If you want to be friends, that is.”
“Yes, I really would like to be friends. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who understands how I’ve felt all these years about losing my father.”
“Good. Then tell me what it’s like to be Miss Lucy Garner.”
“Well . . . I live here with my mother and grandmother. I don’t have any sisters or brothers.” She could hear the apologetic tone of her voice and was certain that Danny could hear it, too. “I attend a small, private female academy here in town—I’ll graduate in a few months.”
“What do they teach you in school?”
She was ashamed to tell him she was taking classes in French and watercolor painting and piano. “I like geography,” she said, instead. “It’s interesting to learn about other countries. Grandmama said that I might—” Lucy stopped, embarrassed to say that they had talked about traveling to Europe someday. “My grandmother has been to Paris,” she amended, “and she says it is very beautiful.”
“Do you have any boyfriends?”
“No.” She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing. “We see boys at social events, but it’s all very stiff and artificial. I’ve never talked with any of them the way I’m talking with you. And not even my best friend understands how I feel about losing my father. But then how could she, since her father is still alive? It’s so nice to know that you understand.”
“Miss Lucy?” She recognized the butler’s voice and turned to see him standing near the back door. “It’s chilly out here. I think you’d better come inside.”
“I’ll be right there, Robert.”
Danny slid off the wall again. “I’ll come back another time if you want, and we can talk some more. Which room is yours?” He tilted his head toward the rear of her mansion. “I’ll throw some pebbles at your window to get your attention, next time. I don’t think your servants like me very much.”
“It’s that window,” she said, pointing. “The second one from the left.”
“Well, I’d better get going. My day starts pretty early.”
“Please keep this,” Lucy said, pushing the little boxcar back into his hands. His skin felt as rough as an emery board. “I think it means much more to you than to me.”
He looked surprised. “Thanks. Have a good evening, Miss Garner—I mean, Lucy. Until next time . . . ?”
“Yes. Good night, Daniel.”
Four months later, Lucy sat near her bedroom window on a warm July night, waiting for Daniel’s now-familiar signal. As soon as she heard the tap of a pebble against the glass, she hurried down the back staircase, then carefully closed the outside door behind her, hoping that none of the servants had heard her leaving the house. She stood on the back step for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, then saw Daniel standing in the shadows near the carriage house. She ran to him and let him pull her into his arms. Lucy felt at home there, comfortable with his embrace, his touch.
“I’ve told myself a dozen times to stop coming to see you,” he murmured, “but I can’t make myself stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
“Come on, let’s find a better place to talk,” he said, taking her hand. “There’s a full moon tonight, and I don’t want your servants to see us.” He led her further into the garden, stopping when he found a bench beneath the rose trellis, where they could hide from view. The summer night was warm, the moon very bright, and she could see his beloved face clearly by the light of the moon. Something was bothering him.
“Why would you want to stop coming?” she asked. “We always have so much to talk about, don’t we?”
“Yes. But I’ve been wondering where this can possibly lead.”
“I-I don’t know what you mean.” She traced her fingers along his jaw, feeling the rough stubble of his whiskers. She had grown to love the roughness of his skin, the coarseness of his work clothes, the hardness of his muscles. Everything in her world was soft and refined, and she loved the novelty of him.
“Come on, Lucy. I think you know that we’ve become much more than friends. I think you know that I’m falling in love with you.”
They had never talked about love before, and it made Lucy’s heart speed up. She had wondered during the past few weeks if this was what love felt like: wanting to be with Daniel all the time; counting the minutes and seconds until night fell and she would hear the pebble strike her window; wishing the time they spent together could last twice as long as the time they spent apart. She had read about love in romance novels, of course, but books couldn’t begin to describe the happy, breathless way she felt whenever she was with him.
I’m falling in love with you
. No one had ever said those words to Lucy before, and she felt like whirling in giddy circles the way she had as a child with her brand-new petticoats. Danny Carver loved her! And she loved him, too, she was certain of it. So why had he turned so serious? Why was he talking about not coming anymore? She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.
“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked. “That we’ve become more than friends?”
Danny released her hand and stood up. “No, of course it isn’t a bad thing. But . . . but that river down there isn’t a bad thing, either, when it’s flowing along nicely. But when it goes beyond its banks, when it goes into places it shouldn’t . . . that’s when trouble happens.”
“I don’t understand.” She watched him pace in front of her, a frown on his face, and she was afraid that he was angry with her.
“I don’t belong up here on the ridge, in your world. And I know for sure that you don’t belong down in mine. I’ve overstepped my bounds, Lucy, and it can’t end well. For either of us.”
“But I don’t want it to end.”
“I know.” His frown melted into a look of sadness. “Me, either. But I don’t see how . . .” He paused, clearing his throat as if to rid it of the emotion that thickened his voice. “The first time I came here, I told you that I didn’t dare to gaze into my future and start hoping for things to change, because my future was always going to look like my present. That’s the way things are in my world. And I was fine with that—until I met you. Now when I look into the future, I want you there beside me. But I don’t see any way that we can possibly be together—and I’m not fine with that.”
“But there has to be a way, Daniel. What if I asked my family to give you a job at the tannery? I know how hard you work, how honest and good-hearted you are.”
“They will never allow it,” he said, continuing to pace in front of her. “They would say I’m only after your money.”
“But that isn’t true. I know it isn’t.”
“They would point out that I never finished school. That I can barely read and write.”
“But you’re not stupid, Daniel. You could easily get an education if someone gave you a chance. You could be anything you wanted to be.”