“Yep. It's hot stuff. There's a lot of interest back home. You know Americans—they always like a good love story.”
“Stalin's jailing twelve-year-old kids, Hitler's flexing his muscles, there are riots and fighting in Ireland, and you want me to baby-sit a lovesick king?” Adam yelled. “I can't believe this!” He glared at pedestrians.
“Hey, this wasn't my idea. Don't yell at me.” Burke took another drag of his cigar. He pulled one from his pocket and offered it to Adam. “It's a good story. Don't complain.”
Adam stared at the cigar but didn't take it.
Burke slid it back into his pocket. “This is a good chance for you.”
“I'm a newsman. This is soap opera stuff. Tell them I said no.”
Burke shifted his bulk to face Adam. “Look, don't mess this up. If you do a good job, they'll give you more work, better stories.”
Adam said nothing for a moment, then reached over and slid the cigar out of Burke's pocket. “He won't give up the crown for a woman,” he said, meeting the reporter's eyes. “What man in his right mind would do a thing like that?”
“So, you'll do it?”
Adam nodded.
“I'll let them know you're on it.” Burke patted Adam's shoulder. “Good choice. I think that man will surprise you. She's a real babe. A good woman can bring even a king to his knees.” He grinned. “I've known a few like that.” Signaling for the cab driver to stop, they pulled to the curb. Paying the cabby, he said, “Keep in touch,” then left the car.
“Where to?” the driver asked. When Adam didn't answer, he repeated, “Where do you want me to take you?”
“I'll walk.” Adam opened the door and stepped out. His foot splashed into a puddle. Slamming the door, he swore under his breath. Careful to avoid more puddles, he headed up the sidewalk, barely aware of congested foot traffic. He knew the story of King Edward and Mrs. Simpson. With the right slant it could be a good one. So, why don't I want to write it? Maybe it hits too close to home, he thought.
He'd been unable to put Laurel out of his mind. Everywhere he went, her spirited hazel eyes, playful mouth, and thick auburn hair went with him. He shoved his hands into coat pockets and walked faster, remembering the kisses they'd shared. Her lips had been soft and responsive. Her eyes had been filled with devotion and admiration.
He kept walking, no longer noticing the puddles, only seeing Laurel. He tried to imagine living in Alaska. He'd liked it there. And Will's words had haunted him. “Maybe you belong here? Maybe this is where God intended you to be?” Adam smiled. He liked Will. He liked all the Haspers. They were like family.
“No!” he almost yelled, then looked around to see if anybody had noticed. I like it here—the excitement, the status. I'm respected. And I have friends and women whenever I want.
He started across a bridge. The rain had stopped. He watched the Thames flow beneath, then disappear. Slowing his steps, he ran his hand along the railing. “Where do I belong? Where?” He stopped and looked up at the arching trusses above. What if God did have a plan for him? And it wasn't here in London?
A large boat cruised toward the bridge. Adam wondered how many times it had traversed the river and how many more trips it would make. There were always more crossings, more opportunities. The ship passed beneath him. “I have time. I don't need to make a decision today or tomorrow if I don't want to.”
He started walking again. “Maybe one day Alaska will be right. Now I have a career to build and a story to write about the king and Mrs. Simpson.” He smiled. “And if God has a different plan for me, he can show me,” he said offhandedly.
A memory of a boy who'd once believed and trusted flitted through his mind. He felt a twinge of regret, but shrugged it off. I like the way things are. Life is good for me here. It's fast-moving, interesting. I'd be a fool to give it up.
Chapter Thirty-Two
KNEELING IN THE SNOW, ROBERT SKINNED OUT A MINK, BUT HIS MIND WAS elsewhere. All morning he'd been searching for the right way to ask Will for Laurel's hand. Just how did a man go about asking a father if he could marry his daughter?
Will smoothed the snow, then positioned a trap. Opening the jaws, he reset the spring and baited it with a piece of rotted salmon, then carefully scattered snow over the trap and line. “That ought to do it.” He stood.
Robert held up the mink. Running a hand over thick brown fur, he said, “Nice pelt.”
“It's been a good season,” Will said with a satisfied smile.
Robert added the skin to the others already hanging from his belt. “Thanks for letting me share the trapline with you. Having to build a new place puts a crimp on the money.”
“I'm glad for the help, son. With you lending a hand, we've been able to set out more traps.” Will pushed his feet back into his snowshoes. “I sure understand about debt. Seems the pile of bills just keeps growing. I'll be glad to get in our first harvest. Makes me uneasy watching my debt grow every time I go to the store.” He gazed through the trees. “We've got a couple more traps to check. Better get moving.” He started off.
Lying low over the valley like a dreary ceiling, slate-gray clouds hid mountain crests. Ice encased naked tree limbs. Deep snow lay in mounds around trunks and hung like giant white pillows on evergreen boughs.
Robert followed Will through the frozen forest, icy snow crunching beneath the slats of his snowshoes. He searched for the right words. He didn't know how Will would respond. The Haspers liked him well enough, but he also understood they knew Laurel wasn't in love with him. That will come in time.
At midday Will asked, “You hungry? Jean packed us a lunch.”
“Yeah. Starved.”
Will picked up his pack, plodded to a nearby log, wiped it clear of snow, then sat. Robert joined him. Digging into the pack, Will took out two sandwiches and handed one to Robert. He removed the wax paper and peeked between the pieces of bread. “Mmm, rabbit.” He took a bite. “It's sure pretty out here.”
“It is.” Robert started on his sandwich. I should ask him now. He looked at the sky. “So, do you think we have long to wait for spring?”
“Some of the old-timers say it'll be an early one. Hope they're right. I'd like to start turning the soil as soon as I can. And to tell you the truth, the house is beginning to feel like a cave. I'll be glad for more daylight.”
“Me too. Warmer, longer days will give me more time for the house.” Robert took another bite of his sandwich. “I was thinking I'd make it bigger this time.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I figure that one day I'll marry and will need more room.”
Will chewed and nodded.
Robert struggled to swallow a bite. His mouth and throat were dry. “Uh …” His pulse picked up. Now. Ask him now. “Sir, I … I wanted to talk to you about something.” He picked a crumb of crust off his coat and tossed it onto the snow. A small bird swooped down from a nearby tree and picked it up, then flitted back into the branches. “Wonder why he didn't fly south?”
