"Those 'ad better not 'ave come from my stock," the shopkeeper warnsButleigh."No, they'd better not," I say, backing her up."Course they didn't," he protests. "I got 'em from the churchyard."Jane and I turn to one another, open-mouthed."Have you ever...?" she gasps."I don't know how he has the nerve," I fume."Well, since I'm not appreciated 'ere I reckon I'll be off to WearyallHill," announces Butleigh. "No better way to spend an afternoon thansittin' on the grass with a crossword, a drop o' cider an' a pasty." I hope you fall asleep an' it rains an' you catch your death o' cold, yousmelly old bugger," Jane calls after him."And you can take these with you," I add, thrusting the flowers into hishands."The Dwyers," Gerald reminds me.Butleigh spins in the doorway, his inane expression gone."You know 'em?" As a matter of fact we don't," says Gerald."You keep it that way, my friend. For your good lady's sake, you keep itthat way." What the devil do you mean by that?"Butleigh doesn't stay. Despite his judicious use of straw hats, freckles ran riot over Jacob’s milky skin. Nearly imperceptible brown dots, confined to the bridge of Naomi’s nose and cheeks, delicately sprinkled and complimented her old-lace complexion.One day, Jacob brought her Daed a beautiful sorrel filly. Naomi’s heart filled with affection as the chestnut horse reared, galloped, and charged over the fern-green and fragrant late-summer grass.That love instantly soured into revulsion as they corralled the horse in a pen.The terrified foal whinnied piteously as Jacob brutally muzzled and saddled her. Naomi’s Daed blocked off any escape routes the filly could use to bolt free.After three hours of breaking the will of that noble creature, Naomi’s disinterest in Jacob settled into a firm, abiding, and lifelong hatred.-----The polar opposite feeling arose in Naomi’s heart for Anke, Jacob’s enchanting and playful elder sister. Naomi would roll the name around in her head, whispering it to herself on.
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