Excerpt from By Way of Water by Charlotte Gullick, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He released the coin. It hit the window with another zing. Dale looked at her feet, fingering the end of her braid. A truck drove by and honked. Maybe a logger buddy of Jake's, heading south to the next town. A boxy blue car pulled up next to them. A woman with a flowered scarf tied around her long brown hair talked to a boy in the passenger seat. Rocks, leaves and feathers decorated the car's dash, and beads hung from the rearview mirror. The woman climbed out. She wore sandals with no socks, but she didn't seem to notice the slush as she walked into the store after looking at Jake and Dale and the can. The boy turned to look at Justy and nodded like adult men nod to each other. She looked away, pretending she didn't see him or his blue eyes or his long brown hair in a braid down his back. Jake pulled out a third penny, weighed it, cocked his arm and let it fly. When Dale took a step closer, Jake spun at her and grabbed her arms.

"He said he'd rather take food stamps than pennies from me," Jake yelled. Justy sat back against the seat, fear pulling her shoulders in like a fallen bird. Dale took quick, short breaths and looked up to the Kingdom Hall. Snow continued to fall on their heads, and Jake's spiky hair seemed to spear the flakes. Jake released her and said, "I'm going to beat the hell out of him." Dale didn't turn as he started walking, but as he reached the door, she took a deep breath and said, "Maybe you could hunt." Jake stopped and looked at the back of her head. "What?" He cocked his head as if his ears needed cleaning.

"Whoa," Lacee said. Micah looked at her and then nodded.

Dale turned to Jake, standing a little taller. "Maybe you could hunt." She seemed surprised by her mouth, how easy those words ran from it. Jake placed a hand on the door, removed it, looked at the boy in the car and took two steps closer to Dale.

"You told me you'd leave." She cast a glance at the Kingdom Hall and said, "I've changed my mind. "Jake looked at his hands, fists that knew how to find the solid soft parts of the stomach, the crook of the nose that would break. He clenched and then released his fingers. "And you won't call the company like you said?" She shook her head. Her lips formed the word no.

"You serious?"

Dale nodded. Silence filled the afternoon and Jake stood looking at his curled hands. The woman from the leafy blue car came out from the store. She stopped and took a long look at Dale; then her green eyes ran over the children in the truck and over Jake, and finally back to Dale. She opened her mouth but shook her head. She tried to meet Dale's eyes, but Dale looked only at Jake, who gave the woman a curt nod before she climbed into her car. Her bracelets jingled and her deep blue dress flowed around her pale limbs as she moved. She and the boy watched Dale pick up the can and walk to the passenger door of the truck. "Make room," Dale said to Justy, who stood and pressed herself to the dash. Dale then pulled Justy onto her lap, placing the can back between their legs. Jake stood looking at his hands, and Dale's heart surged in her chest. Justy looked at the blue car and saw the kerchiefed woman's mouth shaped in a tiny oval. "Don't look at them," Dale said. Justy sat up straighter, noticing that Micah was now in Lacee's lap and that the two of them were almost on top of her and Dale. Jake climbed in and started the engine without a word. As they pulled away from the parking lot, Justy turned to meet the boy's eyes once more.

"I don't know what you want from me," Jake said to the dark of the hunter's cabin. His stomach lurched, and he decided to go to the orchard pasture by the old homestead. Maybe a deer or two would be out looking for a fallen apple. He walked to the cabin door and then stopped, the fiddle's weight solid in his right hand. He moved back to the table and set the instrument and the bow down in the darkness. His fingers slid the smooth surface of the fiddle's body as he remembered the night Kyle had given it to him, Jake's eighth birthday. He and Kyle had lived in the house out at the Reese Ranch. There was a bottle of rotgut on the table that night. Kyle handed him a shot of whiskey, told him he was growing up now and produced the fiddle case from under his bed in the living room. Jake took a sip, shook his head against the hot sting and smiled. The family fiddle, one of the three things that had made it on the trip west. He reached for it, and Kyle held it from him for a minute before handing it over, a sloppy grin on his face. It's time," Kyle said and took a straight shot from the jug. "Daddy would've wanted you to have it." Kyle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "And you're old enough." He took another drink and seemed to slip away. Jake wanted him to come back, to show him how to play, but he knew not to bother Kyle when he was remembering. So Jake plucked at the strings until his father returned to show him how to tune the instrument, how to bend the bow when he tightened or loosened the strings. It had been a good night, Kyle playing and teaching and not too far gone.

Copyright 2002 by Charlotte Gullick. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, Blue Hen.