SEVENTEEN
Alden was beginning to feel hunted. Barry Butcher seemed to dog his footsteps for four straight days. No matter where he was, he’d turn around and there was Barry, trying to force on him a sheaf of papers and an offer for the land.
Alden tried hard not to think about Barry’s offer, or the future of the house and land. Not after the bank refused to give him a loan, and his insurance agent regretfully told him that there was nothing they could do without a policy in place.
To be sure, there was the time two days after the fire when Mercy found him sitting on a fallen bit of the north wall, a notebook in hand, idly drawing an outline of what the house used to be, unmanly tears staining his cheeks.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mercy had asked, putting both of her arms around h
