I laughed. "Don't say I didn't warn you." I picked up the book and held it up. "The Weaver of Raveloe?"

Tenleigh's eyes met mine and she nodded, taking the book from me. "I read a lot," she said, stuffing the book in her backpack and looking embarrassed for some reason. "The Dennville library doesn't have much of a selection so I've read some twice . . ."

"That one?" I nodded my head toward her backpack.

We started walking again.

"Yes, I've read that one before."

"What's it about?"

She was quiet for a minute and I thought she might not answer me. Truthfully, I didn't really care to hear about the weaver of whatever. She could tell me anything. What I wanted was to hear her pretty voice cutting through the cold mountain air—and I liked the things she said. She was different. She kept surprising me with the things that came out of her mouth and I liked it. I liked it way too much.

"It's about Silas Marner who . . ."

I halted. "Silas?"

Tenleigh stopped, too, and looked at me curiously. "Yeah, what's wrong?"

I shook my head and we both started walking again. "Nothing. That was my brother's name."

Tenleigh bit her lip and looked up at me, a sympathetic look on her face. She must know my brother had been at the mine that day. "Yes, I think I remember that." She smiled. "Maybe your mama read the book and the name stuck with her."

I shook my head. "My mama didn't . . . doesn't know how to read."

"Oh." She glanced at me and then was silent for a minute. "I know it happened years ago, but . . ." She touched my arm and I jerked slightly. She pulled her hand away. "I'm really sorry about your loss, Kyland."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," I said, clearing my throat.

We walked in a sort of awkward silence for a few minutes, passing by my dark house. "So what about this Silas Marner?"

"Um . . . well, he lives in a slum in England and, ah, he's falsely accused of stealing, by his best friend. He's convicted and the woman he's engaged to marry leaves him and marries his best friend."

"Jesus, sounds like a real feel-good sort of tale. I'm glad you've found a way to escape the harshness of Dennville."

Tenleigh's sweet-sounding laughter made my heart jump in my chest and I looked over at her. Somehow making this girl laugh filled me with some sort of pride. Not good. Very, very bad.

We arrived in front of Tenleigh's trailer and she stopped, leaning back against a tree next to the road. "Well, he leaves the town and settles in a small village near Raveloe. He sort of becomes a hermit, feeling as if he's hidden—even from God." I unconsciously leaned in so I wouldn't miss a word. She tilted her head, looking off into the distance. Then she looked back at me and widened her eyes. "But one winter’s night, his whole life changes when—"

"Tenleigh!" someone called from the trailer, an older woman with long brown hair the same color as Tenleigh's. "It's cold out there. Come inside."

"Okay, Mama," Tenleigh called before looking back at me, a worried expression on her face. I didn't remember seeing Tenleigh's mama much. She must not leave the trailer very often. "I gotta go. I'll see you around, Kyland." And with that, she turned and left me where I was standing. She ran inside so quickly, her sudden absence jarred me and made me feel lost somehow. I stood staring at her trailer for several moments before I turned and headed for home, the wind cold at my back.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tenleigh

The unfortunate thing about being fired from Rusty's—other than the obvious issues of lost income, humiliation, and possible starvation—was that it was the only place to buy groceries in Dennville. Normally, I'd make the six mile walk to Evansly just on principle alone, but today it was raining cats and dogs and I just wasn't up for it. So I sucked up my pride and entered the convenience store. Rusty was a dick, but he wasn't going to turn down my money. Thankfully though, his sister Dusty was standing at the counter. Yes, Rusty's sister's name was Dusty—the gene pool in that family was clearly something special. Dusty had an In Touch magazine plastered to her face and didn't even look up when I entered. I let out a sigh of relief. I moved through the store throwing things in my basket. Rusty didn't carry any fruits or vegetables, not even the canned variety. Marlo and I had a small garden planted on the far side of our trailer—tomatoes, green beans, watermelon, and potatoes—and in the summertime we sometimes ate from it exclusively for weeks at a time. Most of the people living on the mountain had at least a small garden and sometimes we traded one homegrown item for another. It was a good way to save money . . . and a good way to avoid the scurvy you were likely to get if you ate food solely from Rusty's.

In the winter months, I'd usually make it a point to walk through the snow to Evansly at least once a week to stock up on canned fruits and veggies. When we were heating our trailer, we couldn't afford the fresh variety, so for three or four months we made do with canned. And then when the spring came, Marlo and I watched the ground with something close to glee as the first shoots unfurled.

You had to appreciate the small things in life when the big things made you want to curl up in the corner in the fetal position and give up.

"Hey, Dusty," I greeted her when I was ready to check out.

She didn't acknowledge me and still didn't look up, blindly grabbing at my items until she felt something, glanced at it, and typed the price into the cash register.