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“She means you’re gross and we hate it.”
“Pull over,” he snarled. The baby started to fuss again.
“Here’s the turnoff for the covered bridge.” As Nealy made a left onto a narrow country road, she decided it might be best to change the subject. “Do you know why these were built, Lucy?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
“Some people say it was to keep horses from being spooked by the water, but it was probably done to protect the bridges from the elements so they’d last longer. Nobody knows for sure.”
“You’re a regular walking encyclopedia,” Mat drawled.
“I told you I have a photographic memory.” The baby’s howls of protest were getting louder.
“Then what did that sign we just passed say?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“ ‘Jesus Saves,’ ” Lucy offered.
Mat ignored her. “What about the big sign at the campground office? Right next to the front door?”
“It didn’t interest me, so I didn’t bother to read it.”
Once again, the teenager piped up. “ ‘No open fires.’ ”
Nealy shot her a glare. “Don’t you have something better to do with your time?”
“No.” Lucy handed her sister an empty paper cup, but Button threw it to the floor with a yowl.
They rounded a bend and an old bridge came into view spanning a narrow ribbon of water at the bottom of a gentle hill. Built of weathered brown wood, it had a faded tin roof that might once have been painted red, and a pockmarked metal sign warning away vehicles over ten feet high. Even though this was West Virginia instead of Madison County, Iowa, the bridge was so picturesque she expected to see Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep emerge from the dark interior. It was Americana at its very best, and she sighed. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
When neither of her traveling companions responded, she chose to believe the bucolic beauty had left them too moved to speak.
“Let’s stretch our legs.” She parked Mabel on the shoulder. “Lucy, you can get your sister.”
“She’s not poison, you know. The two of you could carry her once in a while.”
Nealy pretended not to hear.
“We’re not staying long,” Mat declared. “Two minutes, and then we’re heading for the highway.”
“Two minutes it is.” There was no way two minutes would do it.
Outside, everythin
g was drowning in sunlight, and the warm, humid air carried the fragrance of dust, grass, and country road. The river was low, as if it hadn’t rained for a while, and the sounds were pure music: water lapping over rock, birdsong, the chirp of crickets and buzz of bees. On each side of the bridge a grassy bank covered with wildflowers sloped down to the water. Lucy set the baby in the grass.
“Gah!” She chortled and clapped her hands.
“It’s your turn to watch her.” Lucy took off for the interior of the bridge before Nealy could protest.
“Gah!” The baby made an unsuccessful lunge for a bumblebee.
“Watch it, Button. Those things aren’t friendly.”
“I thought her name was Marigold.” Coffee mug in hand, Mat emerged from the Winnebago.
“Lucy says her mother called her Button. Bring the quilt that’s in the back, will you? ” She probably wouldn’t stay on it, but it might keep her from getting too dirty.
