Page 3 of The Formation of Us

Adam dragged his feet, his shame so acute Duke pitied him. He knew from his own experience how miserable Adam felt right now, but the boy needed to learn the same harsh life les-son Duke had learned at the age of eight from his own father. The burning shame he’d felt that evening nearly twenty-three years ago had been seared into his conscience, and he’d never forgotten his father’s admonishment that honorable men never lie, cheat, or steal. Ever.

Adam would learn that lesson today.

“How old are you, Adam?”

“Just turned thirteen.”

“You’re old enough to work then.”

The boy nodded. “I’ve been working in our greenhouse since I was four.”

They turned down Mill Street, a tiny lane connecting Water and Eagle Streets.

“Tell me more about this greenhouse of your sister’s.”

“Faith grows herbs and stuff for healing.”

“But what does she heal?”

The boy shrugged. “Everything, I guess, or people wouldn’t buy our tonics and balms.”

Suspicion tightened Duke’s gut. He did not need some crazy woman selling snake oil and promising miracle cures to his unsuspecting friends and neighbors.

Adam stopped in front of Colburn’s former mill, a three-story gambrel-roofed building with a towering brick smokestack, and a one-story stone addition attached at the rear. To the left of the huge grist building stood a plank structure that once housed the bales of hay and straw that Colburn had sold. And beyond that was the horse barn, right where it had always been. But Duke’s gut insisted something was different. And his gut was never wrong.

He’d been inside the cavernous building often enough to know that the interior light was too negligible to successfully contain a greenhouse. The water was plentiful, though. The Canadaway Creek was a ready source of power for the many businesses built along its banks as the gristmill was.

“Sheriff Grayson?” Adam bit his lip. “I’d rather go to jail.”

“I’m not offering that choice. Is your sister here?” At Adam’s resolute nod, Duke ushered him inside.

The first thing to strike Duke was the sunlight streaming through new, large windows that lined three of the four walls. That’s what had looked different about the building when he’d eyed the exterior. The lower floor of the building was filled with windows and flooded in sunlight.

The smell of fresh soil mingled with the astringent scent of herbs and an indefinable floral fragrance. The thriving profusion of plants and flowers told him that Adam’s sister knew what she was doing. Maybe the woman was just concocting a few harmless homemade remedies that would save other women the tedious task. Maybe he was overreacting because of his own worries about the upcoming election.

This was his eighth year as sheriff, and he had every confidence that he would keep his position—as long as he could get his damn shoulder healed. Just one rumor that he couldn’t do his job could change the outcome of the election and end his hard-won tenure as sheriff.

From the back of the greenhouse a child laughed and women’s voices tittered. A softer female voice drew his attention to the front of the building. The woman had her back to him, but her quiet singing was laced with such sadness, Duke felt he was trespassing on a private moment.

Adam stayed by the door and hung his head. “That’s my sister.”

Faith, Duke remembered. She was watering plants, gently touching the green leaves and inspecting the buds.

“Please don’t be mean to her, Sheriff. Faith taught me not to steal. She would never steal anything. Not even if she was starving.”

Shocked by the boy’s plea, Duke eyed Adam. “Why would I mistreat your sister for something you did?”

“Because she’s responsible for me.”

“No, son,youare responsible for you. And you’re responsible for your actions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you take this?” Duke asked, lifting the fancy brush.

The boy ducked his head and his ears turned red. “Faith misses our mother real bad. I thought a new brush might make her happy again.”

That simple declaration sliced through Duke. He’d heard the sadness in Faith’s voice as she sang, and could understand why the boy wanted to make her happy. It was hard for an adult to acknowledge that depth of grief, but far more difficult for a child to witness it in someone he loved and needed. No wonder the boy seemed lost and afraid.