Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“Ma’am?”
“I’ve lived on this island all my life—outlived my mama and my daddy and my husband—and in eighty years, I’ve seen exactly two boys on fancy bicycles passin’ through—had to be twenty or thirty years apart—that was both named Cabot.”
Peyton’s heart jumped into his throat. “You met Daddy—Marshall Cabot, I mean?”
Matilda’s mouth flew open. “That boy Marshall—he growed up to be your daddy?”
“Yes, ma’am. But, well . . . he passed away not too long ago.”
Matilda covered her mouth with her hand, sadly shaking her head. “Bless his sweet heart.”
“Did you spend much time with him?”
“No, can’t say that I did. But I fixed him some lemonade and we had a nice talk in my kitchen. He spent the night here before he went on his way. You want some lemonade?”
“Sure—thank you.”
Peyton followed his host onto her porch, down a wide center hallway, and into the kitchen on the back of the house. It was painted a cheery shade of yellow, with white wooden cabinets and a small table with ladder-back chairs.
“Have a seat,” Matilda directed him. She went to her icebox and retrieved a pitcher of lemonade along with two glasses. “Would you like something to eat?” she asked as she poured.
“No, ma’am, I just had lunch, but thank you.” Peyton took a sip of his lemonade, which was cold and tart-sweet. “Sure is good.”
“Mama’s recipe,” Matilda said with a smile as she laid her hat on the table and had some lemonade herself. “Tell me about your daddy. He was ’bout your age when he came through here—couldn’t be more’n forty by now. What on earth happened to him?”
That was the question Peyton was trying to answer himself—one of them, anyway. “He had a horseback riding accident and hit his head,” he explained, making the choice to begin his father’s story with Bootlegger, not the bourbon.
“Well, now, that’s just a pure tragedy. Such a sweet, quiet boy.”
“Mrs. Jenks, did Daddy tell you anything about why he was ridin’ to Key West?”
Matilda leaned back in her chair, tilting her head to one side. “You appear willin’ and able to take in the truth. Do I judge you right?”
“Yes, ma’am, I think so—hope so anyway,” Peyton answered.
“Well and good.” Matilda nodded and smoothed a pulled thread on her checked tablecloth. “I’ve thought about Marshall Cabot many times over the years. And like I told my husband—he passed in ’39—it always seemed to me that young man was a house divided. Part of him wanted to get as far away from home as he could, and part of him wanted to turn around an’ go right back the way he came. One minute he was tellin’ me how he loved this wild ol’ island, and the next he was askin’ me reckon how long it would take him to get back to St. Augustine if he was to light out right away. You got any idea what that was all about?”