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Back A Penny for Your Thoughts Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. A PENNY
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Forty-Nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-One
  56. Fifty-Two
  57. Fifty-Three
  58. Fifty-Four
  59. A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
  60. About the Author
  61. Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
  62. About the Publisher

I looked, and sure enough, I could detect the glint of aluminum among the fallen leaves. Suddenly, I felt an urge, stronger than any I’d had in a long time, to run out there, slip that boat into the water, and go for a row.

“Harriet—”

“Oh boy, why’d I even mention it?” Harriet cried. “I can see it in your face already!”

“Just for half an hour,” I said, grinning at her. Then I looked hopefully at Lorraine. “You wouldn’t mind terribly, would you, if I borrowed your boat?”

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It wasn’t exactly a canoe, but it would do. After flipping the heavy boat and dragging it to the water through what I hoped wasn’t poison ivy, I stood on the bank for a moment and caught my breath. My best canoe at home was a 60-pound, 16-footer. This sucker, though probably the same length if not shorter, surely weighed at least twice as much. Still, a boat was a boat, and I was nearly desperate for some time on the water. I put in one foot, grabbed the sides, and pushed off with the other, settling onto the bench as I quietly sailed forward toward the deeper part of the creek.

I had left my jacket and purse with Harriet so that all I carried with me now was a pair of old wooden oars. I slid them through the oar locks and into the water and gave a stroke, the feel of them heavy but comfortable in my hands.

Ah, blessed water! I looked back at the bank one last time, memorizing the landmarks that would indicate home. Then I took off, rowing even and hard up the creek as fast as I could manage in the unwieldy fishing boat.

I didn’t exactly glide, but still it was better than nothing. I found a steady pace and eventually settled into a comfortable rhythm.

The view was lovely on both sides of the bank—modest homes at first, their cluttered yards filled with swing sets and trampolines and sandboxes. Eventually, as the creek became wider, the homes became larger and more luxurious, their manicured lawns sweeping down to the water from ornate stone decks.

Still, for all of the lovely houses, I didn’t see any people outside enjoying their yards on this quiet weekday afternoon. I knew they were all out working, just as I should’ve been. With that thought, I sighted a bridge up ahead and decided to do my turnaround there and head back in.