By Dana Cameron
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Extra resources for A Fugitive Truth
The day promised to be a beauty, and even though I had to button up my overcoat all the way, I could tell that spring was chasing the winter cold away. Although I was in such a rush to get at the Chandler journal that I wanted to run to the annex, I forced myself to walk calmly. I’d decided not to drive for a number of reasons: for one thing, Bessy was sounding increasingly rough, and she needed the break. For another, I thought that the walk home would help clear my head at the end of the day, and I also didn’t want to sweat through my good clothes or turn an ankle by hurrying too much on shoes not made for hurrying.
I walked next door to the central hallway over the foyer and found that it had been made into a small sitting area with an extension phone and had a wonderful view of the south forty, then the mountains in the distance, same as my room. Back in my room, I chucked my suitcase on the bed and then made several trips for my boxes of books and papers. By the time I was finished I was absolutely pooped, but thought that a walk around would clear my head, show me the grounds, and stretch my tired back.
Jack brightened a bit. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on my book on the economic history of the Connecticut River valley during the Revolution. ” I tried to look enthusiastic, but economic history bores the pants off me. Fair enough; even folks in related fields couldn’t always get excited about the same things. “Well, it seems like this is the place to be then, isn’t it? ” Jack was confused. “Where are you going to walk to? There’s nothing out there. ” I laughed a little, figuring he was kidding.
A Fugitive Truth by Dana Cameron
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