"Of course he is!" Emily's voice was raised.

He stepped back, holding up his hands in mock sur render. "It was a question only, Miss n.o.body."

Emily realized if Mr. n.o.body was one of her father's clients, her chances of remaining anonymous were slim. "He's my father. My name is Emily d.i.c.kinson," she admitted.

Every aspect of his face expressed his dismay. "Please accept my apology. I had no intention of insulting your father." Putting his hands to his heart, he entreated her to forgive him.

Emily inclined her head with mock solemnity. "Your apology is accepted."

"I like how loyal you are, though . . . family should stand together." The timbre of his voice shifted from penitence to something harder. Emily wasn't sure what to make of it.

"My father or not," Emily said, "let me a.s.sure you that there isn't a more honest man in the entire state of Ma.s.sachusetts."

"A testimonial I am happy to accept." He gestured toward the law offices. "Is there anyone in the office to help me?"

"His clerk, Mr. Ripley, should be there." Emily hesitated and then said, "But don't tell him you know me, please."

"Why not? I'm quite proud of our acquaintance."

Feeling his charm all over again, her eyes dropped to stare at the tops of her muddy boots. "Amherst is like a small pond. Everyone proclaims their business to the rest of the bog. No one needs to know about our friendship."

"As you wish," he said, taking no offense. "I'll be on my way."

"Wait," Emily said. "I've told you my name. What is yours?"

"I prefer being mysterious," he said, with a slightly wicked smile.

Emily scowled, but proffered her hand. "I'm very grateful for your help with Jasper." He shook her hand with great solemnity. "I hope some day to return the favor."

"I'm interested in this college of yours," he said. "Perhaps you would show me around when the weather improves? Tomorrow?"

Emily glanced up the hill to where the First Congregational Church was situated. "I would like to, very much, but tomorrow is Sunday. I'll be in church for most of the day."

"What a shame," Mr. n.o.body said. "I love my G.o.d as much as the next person, but I find it hard to spend hours on a beautiful summer morning in his house on a hard bench."

She nodded without realizing it. "Our family box pew is in the very front of the church, and when my father pulls the door shut, I feel so . . . trapped."

"Like a rabbit in a snare," he said.

"Wouldn't it be lovely," Emily exclaimed, "if we could worship wherever we wished?"

Mr. n.o.body squinted as though he were looking toward a faraway place. "I would pray at sea," he said. "I never appreciated G.o.d's accomplishments until I sailed the ocean. That horizon has no limits."

"I've never seen the sea, only the harbor at Boston," Emily admitted. "I'm partial to meadows."

At that moment, the church bell tolled the hour. Mr. n.o.body said, "Instead of a bell calling you to worship, we could have a . . . "

"A bobolink!" Emily supplied her favorite bird. "And the sermons would never be too long."

"Amen," he said, and they both laughed.

"Perhaps Monday?" he asked wistfully.

"But I thought you were headed West?" Emily asked.

He nodded. "If I adopt my new plan of action, I may stay for several days."

"I'd be honored to give you a tour," Emily said, proud that she kept her delight in check and out of her voice. "Meet me at nine o'clock at the church up the hill, next to the College."

"I look forward to it." With a jaunty wave, he disappeared into the mist.

"As do I," Emily whispered after him.

The stray ships pa.s.sing spied a face

Upon the waters borne,

With eyes in death still begging raised,

And hands beseeching thrown.

CHAPTER 3.

Monday morning dawned bright and glistening. Emily was sitting near the kitchen window overlooking the pond. Squinting in the light, she wrote furiously in her notebook. Her conversation with Mr. n.o.body about alternate means of worship had been reverberating in her head, like a moth trapped in a lantern. It seemed impossible that only two days ago she had been standing in the pouring rain with him. Or that she would see him again in just a few minutes.

"How many times do I need to ask you to do your

ch.o.r.es?" her mother asked from the doorway. "Shouldn't you be churning the b.u.t.ter?"

Emily could hear one of Mother's "bad turns" announcing itself, and the muscles in the back of her neck tightened. When Mother was ill, her daughters' plans were of no account.

As though she were trying to catch a wisp of smoke in her fist, Emily saw her plans with Mr. n.o.body were in

jeopardy. Shoving her notebook deep in her skirt pocket, Emily rushed to placate her mother, who had settled in her customary rocking chair at the stove.

Emily's arm knew how to churn b.u.t.ter without super-

vision, so her mind was free to wander. With each crank of the paddle, she unpacked another detail of her meetings with Mr. n.o.body. She glanced across the table to where

Vinnie was making a cake. Although she was inclined to

confide in her sister, Emily had kept the handsome stranger a secret. Vinnie would tease her, or ask sensible questions Emily didn't want to answer. Or, worse, Vinnie would want to join them this morning-and Emily couldn't bear it if Mr. n.o.body preferred Vinnie to herself.

"Is the b.u.t.ter ready yet?" her mother interrupted. Emily was pleased to hear that her voice sounded a bit stronger.

"Almost," Emily said, her shoulders aching from churning the paddle in the thickened cream. "I wish we could just buy the b.u.t.ter ready-made like Abiah Root's family does."

Her mother snorted. Emily and Vinnie exchanged grins at the unladylike sound.

"After all, we can afford b.u.t.ter from the shop," Emily said.

"'Tis wasteful when we can do it ourselves."

"But . . . "

Mrs. d.i.c.kinson shook her head. "Emily, it doesn't matter that we have the means now. Store-bought b.u.t.ter is an extravagance. When I was just married, I had to take in boarders to make ends meet. I don't know what I would have done without Mrs. Child's book to help me economize."

Emily's sigh was echoed by Vinnie's exhaled breath. Mrs. Child's opus, The American Frugal Housewife, had haunted their domestic hours since they were babes.

Mrs. d.i.c.kinson, ignoring her daughters' exasperation, paraphrased: "*Convenience should be a secondary object to economy.'"

"*Economy is a poor man's revenue,'" Vinnie continued. When Emily failed to chime in, Vinnie jabbed her in the side with a floury elbow.

"*And extravagance a rich man's ruin,'" Emily said so quickly that the words ran together like the egg whites in Vinnie's batter. "But wouldn't baking day be a pleasure if we could just scoop in the b.u.t.ter we needed? Without churning for hours and hours?" She held up her hands to display angry red creases on her palms from the wooden paddle.

"Next, you'll want to buy our flour without a visit to the mill," Vinnie teased, as she began working the ingredients together in her favorite bowl. It was the precise hue of a robin's egg. "And get our spices already ground."

"There are so many better ways to spend our time!"

Emily said.

"And what would they be?" asked her mother. "Disappearing for hours on end? Staring at flowers? Scribbling in your mysterious notebooks? Now that the school term is finished, your time is best spent learning to bake for the family table. You too, Vinnie. Mind you don't forget the cinnamon." She came to Emily's side to check the b.u.t.ter. Emily stepped back and stumbled across a streak of dark fur.

"Vinnie-that cat of yours!" Emily cried.

"Be careful, Emily!" Vinnie knelt down and scooped up the gray tabby. As she draped it around her shoulders, the cat's loud purr filled the kitchen. "She's still nursing. Her nerves are in a fragile state."

"That's no excuse for always being underfoot." Emily sniffed. "When are those kittens going to the barn?"

Shooting Emily a reproachful glance, Vinnie said, "They aren't ready yet." As if on cue, the three oversized kittens began mewing in the basket near the stove. "The nights are too cold."

"It's August, young lady," Mrs. d.i.c.kinson corrected. "The nights are warm enough that your precious kittens can sleep in the barn." She held Vinnie's rebellious glance until Vinnie nodded. "And wash your hands. Who knows where that beast has been?"

"Just outside, playing with the toads and crickets,"