be counted handsome. The stranger smiled, and said, ‘Sorry to have scared you boys and your dog. It’s my own damn fault. I shouldn’t have shouted. I should’ve known the dog’d be jumpy.’ He spoke with a soft, musical voice, different from what the boys were used to hearing.
Seeing no immediate threat to the boys, Bad Luck stopped his growling and reserved judgement on this stranger. The boys exchanged glances.
‘Look, I’m sorry I startled you guys, okay?’
The boys nodded as one. Patrick said, ‘What did you mean about Bad Luck being jumpy, mister?’
The man laughed, and the boys relaxed. ‘Bad Luck, huh?’
Hearing his name, the dog gave a tentative wag of his tail. The man slowly reached out and let the Labrador sniff his hand, then patted him on the head. After a moment the tail wagging became emphatic. ‘Going to be friends, right, boy?’ said the man. Leaning forward, with hands on knees, he said, ‘Who are you guys? I didn’t know there were any big leaguers around here.’
Sean grinned at the reference to their caps and equipment. ‘We just moved here from California. We live on a farm.’
‘Philip Hastings your father?’ Both brothers nodded. ‘I heard he’d be moving in at the Old Kessler Place. I didn’t know he was here already. Well, I guess I’d better introduce myself. I’m Jack Cole.’ He held out his hand, not in the manner of a grown-up making fun of kids but as if they were just like anyone else he’d met. The boys said their names in turn, shook hands, and silently judged Jack Cole an acceptable human being, even if he was old.
‘What’d you mean about Bad Luck being jumpy?’ Patrick repeated.
‘There’s this bull racoon that’s been hanging around this part of the woods for the last month, and likely as not that’s what your dog smelled under the bridge. If so, it’s a good thing he didn’t get loose. That ’coon has torn up most of the cats and half the dogs in the area.’
The boys looked unconvinced. Jack Cole laughed. ‘Look, take my word for it. This isn’t some little critter from a cartoon show. This ’coon is almost as big as your hound and he’s old, tough, and mean. And this is his turf, clear?’
The boys exchanged glances and nodded. Jack faced back up the gully. ‘This isn’t a good place to play, anyway. We get some pretty sudden showers in the hills near the lake, and if we get a big one, this gully could flood pretty fast. I mean, it can hit you without warning. I’d stay clear of this creek in future, okay?’ They nodded. ‘Come on, I’ll walk back to your house with you. Must be close to your dinnertime. Besides, I’d like to meet your dad.’
The boys tugged at Bad Luck’s collar and began to hike back up the gully. As they rounded the corner, Sean cast a backward look towards the bridge and for an instant felt as if he was being watched by someone … or something … deep within the gloom beneath the rocky arch.
Gloria regarded the grotesque carvings cut into the roof lintel over the front porch and shook her head in dismay. She gazed at the odd-looking creatures who squatted below the eaves of the roof and muttered, ‘Just what every girl dreams of, living in Notre Dame.’ Upon first seeing the house, she had inquired into her husband’s mental health, only partially joking. It was all the good things he saw, sturdy turn-of-the-century construction, hardwoods used throughout and every joint dovetailed and pegged, with nails only an afterthought. It was made of materials a modern builder could only dream of: ash, oak, and spruce now rock-hard with age, marble and slate, teak floors, and copper wires and pipes throughout. But Phil couldn’t see that it was also a living exercise in gracelessness, a testimony to Herman Kessler’s father’s knowing what he liked without the benefit of taste. The first Kessler had built an architectural hodgepodge. A gazebo, stripped from some antebellum plantation and shipped north to this gentleman’s farm, sat off to the left of the house, under the sightless gaze of Gothic windows. Regency furniture clashed headlong with Colonial, while a stuffed tiger’s head hung upon the wall of what was going to be Phil’s study, looking balefully down upon the ugliest Persian rug Gloria had ever seen. All in all, Gloria decided it would be a good year’s work fixing up Old Man Kessler’s place.
She entered the house and moved quickly towards the back door, expecting to have to shout for the boys for ten minutes before they’d put in an appearance. But just as she was about to open the screen door Patrick’s voice cut through the late afternoon air. ‘Maaa!’
She pushed open the door, a half-smile on her lips as she watched her twins approach from the woods behind the house. Bad Luck loped alongside the boys and a young man walked behind. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and practical-looking boots.
When the boys were within shouting distance, Patrick yelled, ‘This is Jack, Mom. What’s for dinner?’
Gloria glanced at her watch and realized it was getting on for five. ‘Hamburgers or chicken. Whatever your father brings back from town. Hello, Jack.’
‘Hello, Mrs Hastings,’ answered the young man with a grin and a decidedly southern lilt to his voice.
‘How did you manage to cross paths with Heckle and Jeckle here?’
‘I noticed the boys were wandering down a gully. Spring floods can come quickly if you don’t know the signs.’ Seeing a tightening around Gloria’s eyes, he quickly added, ‘Nothing to fret about, Mrs Hastings. There’s been no rain in the hills for a couple of weeks, so there’s no chance of a flash flood. But it’s not a good place for the boys to play. Thought I’d mention it to them.’ Gloria fixed a disapproving eye upon her boys, who decided it was time to vanish into the house in a clatter of sneaker-clad feet on the porch steps, punctuated by a slamming screen door.
Looking briefly heavenward, Gloria turned her attention to Jack. ‘Thanks, Mr …’
‘Cole, Jack Cole. And it’s no trouble, Ma’am. I hope you don’t mind my being in your woods?’
‘My woods?’ asked Gloria.
‘Your family’s, I mean. Your property line runs back a half-mile beyond the creek bridge.’
‘A half-mile. We own property for a half-mile from the house?’
‘More than that. The bridge is almost a quarter-mile from here, Ma’am.’
‘Gloria.’
For a moment he looked embarrassed, then he said, ‘Excuse my discomfort, Ma’am, but I haven’t met a lot of actresses.’
Gloria laughed. ‘God! What are you? A fan, out here in the wilderness, after all these years?’
‘Well, I’ve never seen you onstage, Ma’am, but I’ve read about your husband, and they mentioned your career in passing.’
‘Fame, so fleeting,’ Gloria said with mock sorrow. ‘Anyway, just the fact you knew of my humble career calls for a drink, assuming the refrigerator is still working and you’d like a beer?’
‘With deep appreciation,’ he answered with a smile. ‘I’d been hoping to meet you and your husband.’
‘Then
