Of course, she probably didn’t notice through all the fabric and boning. She looked him in the eyes before she ducked her head and headed into the Stantons’ cabin. The incessant crying of little Rebecca ripped through the lifeless late-summer air. On her first day of life, she’d lulled him into believing babies were sleeping angels, but the many times they’d visited these past two weeks swiftly changed his mind. John burst from the house, hands clasped around his ears. He ran toward Everett. “Save me! Take me fishing. Anything.” The sun directly overhead was busy pouring buckets of heat. “There’s no shade at the pond and probably no fish crazy enough to surface.” “But there’s no screaming there. Just fish. And they don’t make a sound.” If Everett went with John, he’d be comfortable. He’d know what to do—cast, wait, catch. Yet his wife’s presence in the cabin drew him.
