like an affront to his good fortune, a threat even. He had to be stronger, he told himself; he should count his blessings, pinch himself, and get on with things. But then Polly sighed in her sleep, and he was overwhelmed at his own luck: she was his antidote and his salvation, his light and his hope. There was just no point in waking up if she wasn’t there.
It was a heartbreak every morning to leave his Polly, awake or asleep. Oliver pushed away the thought of where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing.
Oliver no longer lived in Tammy’s house, but he hadn’t quite severed his ties to her. Her legs had grown too painful for her to take the cows to pasture or to get her butter to market, and these tasks fell to Oliver.
He was already late that morning, but then, he really didn’t see what difference it made where Tammy’s cows grazed. “Damn,” he muttered.
Polly opened a lazy eye. “Have you been awake long?”
“Hours,” Oliver said.
“Well, then, where’s my tea?”
“You haven’t a crumb in the house. But I figure there’ll be enough for both of us when I take you over to Dora Stiles’s.”
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“I thought you couldn’t walk to town with me today,”
she said.
“I’m damned.” Oliver sat up and shook his head. “I was supposed to get those damn cows of hers to pasture at dawn, and it’s getting near noon.”
“Oh, it’s nowhere near that late,” said Polly, putting her finger to the tip of Oliver’s nose. “But it’s getting later all the time. And you know Aunt Hannah wants to marry me off to Silas Ridge.”
“Does she now,” Oliver mocked. “A man with a harelip and a mortgaged boat?”
“A man who owns half of the biggest fish market in town, and a house on Main Street,” said Polly, imitating the superior tone and nasal phrasing of her aunt.
“Why don’t you marry him, then?” Oliver shrugged, making a show of not caring one way or the other.
“Because I’m going to marry you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“And when might that happen?” she asked wearily, knowing full well what he’d say next.
“When I can buy you a proper dress,” Oliver insisted.
“When we can stand every last one of your damned cousins to punch and a cake. When I can . . .”
Polly threw off the covers and got out of the bed.
“There won’t be any tea left at Dora’s if I don’t step lively.”
“Oh, Polly,” Oliver sighed. “Don’t make a fuss. I love you more than all the tea and all the coffee and all the biscuits. . . .”
Polly laughed. “And all the blueberries, too?”
At the mention of blueberries, Oliver pulled her back down beside him and began to kiss her in earnest and it was
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