Chapter Fifty-Eight

It was hard for Donovan to believe he had been at the farm a year. It was harder still to take in the ways his life had changed. Here he was, a city boy, walking beside a hay cart tossing in alfalfa from the winrows where he and Amalia had raked the drying hay the week before. He was still trying to get the hang of forking and tossing it without losing most of his hay to the wind. Amalia, working the other side of the cart, was adept, but tired more quickly than Donovan, who had the advantage of strength.

When the cart was full, they sent Will to the barn while they remained behind. They raked up the leavings, then propped their tools against the fence. Tired and hungry, they wandered toward the creek in companionable silence. While Amalia retrieved their lunch from a cool, muddy spot in the shade, Donovan considered the creek.

"You going to jump in?" Amalia asked as she set out hard-boiled eggs, cheese, bread and other edibles. "That water's pretty cold this time of year. It comes down from the mountains, you know."

He put his hand in the flowing water. "It's not that cold."

"Get in. You'll see."

"Maybe I will. But not now." He sat beside Amalia and accepted a glass of water. "Sure is a pretty day," he observed, looking at the brilliant blue sky.

"I was thinking the same thing." Amalia handed him a piece of bread smeared with goat cheese. "Days like this make me love living on the land." She took off her straw hat, shook out her hair in the breeze and smiled. "Most people used to work indoors all day and I used think I would've liked that, but not on days like today."

Donovan took a bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully. "On a day like this a person could see doing this sort of thing forever."

"What would be better?" she asked, reaching for an egg.

"Nothing, of course."

"Cities and towns are still in chaos, you know. Raiders and Guardsmen are looting and killing people along the main roads. There are wars in crazy places that no one can keep up with any more. Maine, Vermont, Texas, and parts of California have all seceded." She picked at a bit of eggshell. "We're lucky to be away from it all."

Donovan took the egg out of her hand and kissed her. "Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere." He jumped up and took off his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Time for that swim, remember?"

"You're crazy. That water's freezing. I bet you don't know how to swim, anyway."

He struggled out of his boots and socks, then took off his pants. "I can't let that stop me."

Amalia smiled as he wiggled out of the last of his heavy work clothes. His taut, muscular body held no end of fascination for her, in spite of the horrific scars on his shoulder and thigh. If anything, she found him more attractive because of the scars. They were like a decoration, a reminder that not even the perfection of his smooth toffee skin was immune to the ravages of an uncertain world. She started to go to him, but thought better of it and settled back on the blanket.

The creek was too shallow for diving, so Donovan waded in. He was only up to his knees when he looked over his shoulder at Amalia. "You're right. It's cold!” He laughed and waded out a little deeper, shivering. Then he ducked \and attempted to swim. After a few minutes of splashing around and getting nowhere, he burst out of the water, ran up the bank and threw himself, dripping, onto the blanket. "Damn, that was cold!"

Amalia ran a hand along his back. "You're half-frozen."

He rolled over and grinned up at her like a cat. "Warm me up."

"Will will be back with the wagon soon."

"No he won't. He'll have lunch with Tasha and Carina first."

"Are you sure?" She darted a glance at the path back to the house.

"Pretty sure." He drew her down on top of him. "And if he happens by, a little education won't hurt the kid."

"We're supposed to be protecting what's left of his innocence." She let him kiss her, then after a token resistance, relaxed into his arms.

"Innocence isn't any fun." He kissed her slowly, as if he had all day. In the warm, viscous sunlight of afternoon, it was easy to forget time was passing and there was work to do.

They were fumbling with her clothes when they were arrested by a sound of voices and hooves on the trail. Cursing, Donovan grabbed his clothes and began pulling them back on. Amalia sat up and buttoned her shirt, then attempted to do something with her hair as Will and an unknown boy on a chestnut mare came into the clearing.

Will looked from one face to the other and although both Donovan and Amalia were now decently dressed, his eyes lit up with amusement, as if he knew he had interrupted something. "This is Marco. He comes from Jonasville and says he has a message for you."

"Couldn't Carina..."

"No, ma'am," Marco said. "The man said you or Donovan. No one else." He looked at Will. "Not even you."

"What?" Now it was Will's turn to be annoyed.

Donovan felt a lump in the pit of his stomach and suddenly the golden afternoon felt cold. "It's nothing personal," he told Will. "Did anyone else see Marco arrive?"

"No. I saw him while I was taking back the cart. I think Tasha and Carina were already at the house, or maybe in the barn."

"Good. Don't tell them anything, understand?"

While Donovan reassured Will, Amalia opened the letter. Alvi had taken the trouble to write neatly, using the simplest possible words in case Donovan had to read it on his own. Amalia read the entire thing at a glance, but continued staring at it as if she could will it into nonexistence.

"What does it say?" Donovan asked.

She handed it to him without a word, then walked to the creek, sat down on a warm rock and stared, unseeing, as the water rushed past her feet.

It took Donovan a minute to puzzle out Alvi’s message, but when he was through, he crumpled it and shoved it in a pocket. "I don't have any money with me," he told Marco. "But if you can wait until we go back..."

"No, I need a return message right away. I don't care about a tip. I'll get a bonus if I get back to town fast."

"You should at least let us feed and water your horse. We'll check it out and make sure it's sound."

"Carina isn't going to want to see that horse," Amalia said from the creek bank.

"I'll do it," Will offered. He turned to Marco. "Come on. We'll go back to the barn."

"Don't—" Donovan called.

The boys stopped. "What?" Will eyed him solemnly, having guessed by now at the contents of the letter. "Were you planning on not telling her?"

"When and how we do that is up to Amalia."

Amalia walked back to them. Her jaw was set and every move of her body was a study in barely suppressed anger at the fate that had given her this task. "There's never going to be a good time. We may as well go back together and get this over with."

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