Riding the Flume by Patricia Curtis Pfitsch Page B

are,” she said. “Supper’s almost ready.” She looked into the pot andmade a face. “In fact, it’s more than ready.” Then she took a closer look at Charlie. “My goodness! What happened?”
    Francie glanced at her cousin in the light from the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. Lines of dirt streaked his face, and the back of his Sunday shirt was dark with sweat. “Oh,” she said quickly, not looking at her mother, “it was warm this afternoon, and we walked a long way.” She wiped her own face and wondered if she looked as hot as he did.
    â€œI see,” her mother answered.
    Francie and Charlie exchanged a glance, and then they both looked at Francie’s mother. She was scooping potatoes and carrots into a serving bowl, and Francie wondered exactly how much she did see. “Can you stay for supper, Charlie?” her mother asked.
    Charlie had taken his hat off when he came into the kitchen. Now he settled it firmly on his head. “Thank you, Aunt Mary, but I’ve got to get back to camp. Morning comes early on Monday.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’ll sure come another time, though.”
    Francie took off her hat and hung her shoulder bag on a hook by the door, feeling the weight of Carrie’s diary as she did so. “Thank you for taking me walking with you, Charlie,” Francie said. She wanted to remind Charlie of his promise not to tell about the tree, but she couldn’t with her mother right there in the kitchen.
    â€œAnytime, cousin,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to be with such a refined lady as you.” He flashed her a wicked grinand was out the door and down the steps before Francie could say a word.
    Francie’s mother frowned at his retreating back. “What did he mean by that, I wonder?”
    â€œPay him no mind,” Francie answered, trying to look calm. “He’s just teasing.” She picked up the bowl of vegetables. “Should I put these on the table?”
    â€œPlease,” her mother said. “And then run over to the hotel and get your father. I told him he might as well get some work done since this pot roast was taking so long to cook.” She gave Francie a significant look. “He’s been there all afternoon.”
    And won’t know how late you came home. Francie added the unspoken words to herself. It wasn’t any accident that Mama’s pot roast took longer than usual to get done. “Thank you, Mama,” Francie said, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go get Father.”
    â€œWell, it’s about time,” was all her father said when Francie knocked on his open office door. She watched him go through the familiar routine, closing the ledger and placing it on the shelf with the others, slipping on his suit coat, brushing off imaginary lint, carefully closing and locking the door. “Good night, Herbert,” he said, nodding to the desk clerk as they passed through the lobby on their way out.
    â€œDid you and Charlie have a nice afternoon?” Father asked as they walked across the quiet street.
    â€œIt was lovely,” Francie answered, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Could she tell him about the tree? Would he know whether it belonged to Carrie? She took a breath. “Father?” Her heart was beating so loud she thought he must be able to hear it.
    â€œYes?” Her father opened the front door and motioned for her to go in ahead of him.
    â€œThank you for letting me go with Charlie.” She bit her lip. She couldn’t do it. Not yet. What if he refused to keep it secret?
    â€œYou’re welcome,” her father said, looking at her. His eyebrows were raised in an unspoken question, but then he turned and went on into the dining room. “Help your mother serve the supper, Frances.”
    Supper was almost over before Francie decided she would either have to ask