took a bite of bread. "Mmm, this bread . . . " She swallowed.
"Yumm. You're getting it; those first couple of loaves were kind of a
workout. You could get some good men, Willow; they're around. You need
a strategy."

"I'll pass out numbers at the News Shop," Willow said.

Amber laughed. "Give number one to Patrick. Maybe number two to that
cute Claude. Leave Art out; I'm not done with him. He's got a lot of
talent, Willow. You know what he told me last night?"

"Let's see . . . "

"He's buying another old barn--for its frame. He's going to put the
frame against his house barn, end-to-end. He wants to roof it and hang
one room in a quarter of the upper level, leaving the rest open. Can't
you see them: the finished barn and the design together, sort of
turning into each other?"

"Neat idea," Willow said. "O.K., I'll leave Art out."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Amber said. "There's a big party, Saturday
night. It's going to be on the mountain at a place called, 'Mead's
Meadow.' Art says they have it every year. It goes on all night; some
people bring sleeping bags. Kegs, music--why don't you ride up with
us?"

"Maybe I will," Willow said. "If I have any numbers left."

5

Patrick held the brush handle between his palms and walked to the
middle of the Van Slyke's lawn, rubbing his hands back and forth,
spinning the brush until it was dry. "See if you can finish the garage
by four," Parker had said. Good deal, it couldn't be later than three.
The paint cans were stacked by the ladder and the folded drop cloths.
He put the brush on top of the cans, took the rag and the putty knife
out of his back pockets, and stepped back. Amazing how much better a
paint job looks from twenty feet away, he thought.

"Looks good," Hendrik said from the kitchen door.

"Yes," Patrick said.

"Where your wheels?"

"Parker's going to pick me up."

"Have a beer while you wait?"

"Excellent," Patrick said. Hendrik went into the kitchen and reappeared
with two bottles of Heineken. He waved Patrick over to a picnic table
and opened the bottles with a pocket knife. He was a strong man with a
brooding expression and a flattened nose. He looked like someone who
might have painted a famous picture of a boxer. "Happy days," Hendrik
said.

"Prosit." There are few things better than the first swallow of cold
beer after a day's work. "Yes!" Patrick said.

"Looks good," Hendrik repeated. "Have to keep after these old houses."

"