"Very interesting. Had some wood delivered. Phil MacKenzie's been driving around all day, they drop any off at your place?"

"Nah, we cut our own this year," she said. "Saw they gave that new man a ride into town."

"Lucas? Well, it's a long walk in from The Pines," I said. "Boy sold him a cord of wood. Maybe more like strong-armed, though."

"Who is he?" she asked. "He's nobody's relation in town."

"Well, I wasn't when I moved here, either," I pointed out.

"But you were buying Ferry Books, that's almost like being family. Why's he here?"

"Couldn't say," I said, grinning a little into my coffee.

"Bet you could, Christopher. You had dinner with him, didn't you? Is he a friend of yours?"

I glanced around. People at nearby tables were ducking their heads slightly – subtly listening in. When a village regular has dinner with a mysterious stranger, it's almost as good as television.

"He bought a book from me about a week ago," I said. "No, not quite that long, since Jacob brought me his dad's old Farmer's Guide to be rebound right after that – you didn't hear that, though, because it's a birthday present – and that was – "

"Christopher!" she said, annoyed.

"Elaine, if you're going to pump me for information, at least be subtle and give me a chance to enjoy myself," I replied. "I don't know much about him. He moved out to The Pines from Chicago, he's pretty good with his hands but doesn't know much about carpentry, and he's shy. Leave him alone – he won't like being talked about."

"He'll just have to get used to it," she said.

I rolled my eyes. "Do me a favor. Tell everyone who asks you that Lucas at The Pines is a stranger from Chicago and if anyone starts rumors about him I'll write scurrilous anonymous editorials to the Weekly Ferryman libeling them."

Elaine smiled. "Point taken. Come have dinner at our place sometime, Nolan says you eat too much cafe food."

"I'll take you up on that. G'night, Elaine. Goodnight, Low Ferry," I added loudly, and several people turned back to their dinners without a hint of shame in their faces.

***

Jacob came to pick up his father's rebound copy of the Farmer's Guide four days later, when the glue was barely dry on the binding. He came at a decent hour this time, after his deliveries, and loitered for a while.

"Hear you had dinner with the new boy," he said, while I signed for a package delivery and set the small box aside.

"I invited myself," I replied. "I've since eaten lunch with Charles and made plans to have dinner tomorrow night with Elaine's brood."

"Grumpy," Jacob grinned. "Didn't mean anything by it, Christopher. Just curious like everyone."

"Yes, well – hey! Hey!" I said, as several children raced into the shop, bringing a breeze and a flurry of dead leaves with them. "Backpacks by the counter! I see you, Culligan, don't think I won't tell your father if you don't listen to me."

Jacob chuckled as the children trooped back to the counter and dropped their bags, digging in them for grubby notebooks and shucking their coats and hats on top. I went to the workbench to retrieve the Farmer's Guide and presented it to him while the children flocked around the comics rack. He smoothed a callused hand over the embossed leather admiringly.

"Looks brand new," he said, opening it. "Dad'll think I threw his old one out till he sees the family page. How'd you do it?"

"A lot of paste," I said. "Careful, the cover's still curing. Let me wrap it up for you."

"Sure all I owe you's some cheese?" he asked, as I carefully tied the book up in brown paper and twine.

"It's really really good cheese," I repeated.

"Got myself a bargain, then. Thanks," he said, holding up the paper-wrapped book. "See ya round, Christopher."

I turned around to watch the children, who were still arguing by the comic books, though most of them would probably settle down in a little while and start at least pretending to do their homework. Some were avoiding chores at home, and others had parents who worked late and wanted them under a watchful eye, so they spent plenty of afternoons in the store. I didn't mind – they amused themselves, worked, scuffled a little when they thought I couldn't see, and their parents were loyal customers. It got the kids in out of the cold and kept them out of trouble and that was what counted.

The boy was there that day too, though he wasn't always. I guessed he was from one of the far outlying farms where at twelve he would already be considered a paid farmhand, doing any odd jobs his parents couldn't, and probably wanted to put them off as long as possible. I hoped he had started his tutoring with Lucas, since it seemed like it would be good for both of them. Farmers are friendly but quiet, and I thought Lucas would fit comfortably with people who didn't see the need to talk much.

When most of the kids were finally ready to leave, he seemed to hang back – stood behind the others, paid last, and insisted on going over the "book" I'd been keeping of his credit, checking the deductions for comic books against the amount I would have been charged for the firewood. By the time he'd satisfied himself most of his friends were already in their coats, hopping up and down impatiently by the door.

"Come on, come on!" one of them ordered, as the boy placidly signed off on the new deduction and packed his new comic books away into his bag.