Chapter 20
This time, Miss Lucille keeps hold of the reins and guides the horse left instead of right at the front gate, heading away from town. Her father’s land stretches out before us, pastures fenced off with split logs that zigzag as far as the eye can see. These fields close to the main house are used for growing alfalfa and hay, so the grass is tall and lush, waiting for the right moment to harvest. Miss Lucille doesn’t speak until the main house drops below the rise, out of sight—then she sighs prettily and leans back against the board, one hand straying to the picnic basket secured behind her seat. After checking to make sure it’s secured, she casually brings her hand to the seat between us.
When I don’t take it, she sighs again, and the next thing I know, that hand is in my lap
