"So you like long winters?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied eagerly, then stammered a little. "I like snow."
"You won't like it after three months of it," I predicted.
"That's what they always say in the city, too. I don't like storms," he added, making spirals with the back of his spoon in his soup.
"Exciting, though."
He looked up and a rueful look crossed his face so quickly I nearly missed it. "They don't say that in the city."
"It's quieter here. Less excitement to begin with. You must like quiet, though, living all the way out at The Pines."
"It's all right. I've only ever lived in apartments. Houses just seem vulnerable after living in a building with other people all your life. You're so much more of a target."
"A target?" I asked, laughing a little.
"Well, you know. In an apartment building, if someone breaks in, they might pick someone else's apartment to rob. If someone breaks into a house, it's just you."
"You have lived in the city too long," I said. "The last theft we had was – oh, two years ago, someone stole a few bicycles the feed store was trying to sell."
"Did they catch them?"
"No – we guess it was an out-of-towner."
He laughed a little. "So the last theft you had was two years ago and it wasn't even someone who lives here?"
"I have a theory if you want to hear it."
He gestured with his spoon, so I continued.
"Small towns have a maximum capacity. The ratio of people to jobs is pretty steady – I didn't even open a new bookstore, just renamed the old one. When there are more people than the town can support, some go away. Chicago's a big temptation. People only steal when they can't afford something, or when they're discontented and think whatever they steal is going to make them happier."
"And everyone's already happy here?"
"Well, if they aren't, they think it's the town's fault and they leave. It's not perfect, but on the whole, yes. I think people are happy here."
"You left the city," he said. Then he winced, as if at his own stupidity.
"So did you. But that's two people in three years fighting the flow, and ten or fifteen going the other direction. Happy people don't steal bicycles. Unhappy people leave, if they can. Besides, nobody in this town is stupid enough to do that, everyone would notice they had a new bike. But if you really want to feel safe you could get a dog."
"I could," he agreed, and then lapsed into silence.
"I hear you bought some firewood," I said, to change the subject. "That boy's been selling it all over town. He says you offered to tutor him for it."
"It seemed fair."
"You won't mind?"
"It gets me into town. He seems smart. He wouldn't really take no for an answer."
I laughed and scraped up some soup with a bit of bread. "He's a good salesman."
"Yeah," he said, still drawing odd patterns in his soup, only occasionally taking a bite. "He gave me a ride in, too."
"Charge you for it?" I asked. He smiled.
"No, but I'll have to get back again under my own power. I don't mind."
We ate in silence for a while, his eyes flicking up to my face every so often, apparently to see if I really was fine with being quiet. I gave him a reassuring look and kept eating.
It was dark by the time we'd finished. The wind, hot during the day, was turning cold and sharp. Lucas eventually paid and left me to my coffee, turning his coat-collar up and setting out for The Pines. I lingered, watching through the window as he headed south. About five minutes after he disappeared, while I was still placidly sipping my coffee, Elaine – older sister of Nolan, and therefore a secondary spoke in the gossip wheel at the moment – slid into the chair Lucas had left.
"Hi Elaine," I said. "How's your evening?"
"Oh fine, fine. Sip of your coffee?"
I offered it to her and she drank from the other side of the cup, leaving faint lipstick marks.
"How's yours?" she added, passing it back.
"Very interesting. Had some wood delivered. Phil MacKenzie's been driving around all day, they drop any off at your place?"
"Nah, we cut our own this year," she said. "Saw they gave that new man a ride into town."
"Lucas? Well, it's a long walk in from The Pines," I said. "Boy sold him a cord of wood. Maybe more like strong-armed, though."
"Who is he?" she asked. "He's nobody's relation in town."
"Well, I wasn't when I moved here, either," I pointed out.
"But you were buying Ferry Books, that's almost like being family. Why's he here?"
"Couldn't say," I said, grinning a little into my coffee.
"Bet you could, Christopher. You had dinner with him, didn't you? Is he a friend of yours?"
I glanced around. People at nearby tables were ducking their heads slightly – subtly listening in. When a village regular has dinner with a mysterious stranger, it's almost as good as television.
"He bought a book from me about a week ago," I said. "No, not quite that long, since Jacob brought me his dad's old Farmer's Guide to be rebound right after that – you didn't hear that, though, because it's a birthday present – and that was – "
"Christopher!" she said, annoyed.
"Elaine, if you're going to pump me for information, at least be subtle and give me a chance to enjoy myself," I replied. "I don't know much about him. He moved out to The Pines from Chicago, he's pretty good with his hands but doesn't know much about carpentry, and he's shy. Leave him alone – he won't like being talked about."
"He'll just have to get used to it," she said.
I rolled my eyes. "Do me a favor. Tell everyone who asks you that Lucas at The Pines is a stranger from Chicago and if anyone starts rumors about him I'll write scurrilous anonymous editorials to the Weekly Ferryman libeling them."