"Came to see the Friendly," the boy piped up. "Bernie MacKenzie said they were coming."
"Your parents know you're taking rides from strangers?" I inquired.
"Do yours?" Gwen asked, elbowing me.
"Oh, I'm a latchkey kid," I answered. The boy leaned over the seat, watching the road. "Good to see you though, Gwen."
"Is it now?" Gwen replied. "Were you waiting for the Friendly, or for me?"
I laughed. "No other woman for me but you, Gwen."
"Easy, boy," Tommy put in.
"It's just his cat's tongue," Gwen said complacently. "He's a city boy, they love their land more than their women."
"Unkind!" I said. "Don't tell me you don't love the road more than your man, Gwen."
"Haven't got a man," she replied. "Besides, it's different. People change when they own land."
"Well, we can't all live as free as the Friendly do."
"Isn't it true!" she laughed. "And we're not all born to it. Do you know Don's granddaughter?"
"Irene, right?" I asked.
"Well, what do you think but she went to the University two years ago and now she's marrying a land-owner and keeping his house."
"Irene didn't really like caravaning, though, did she?"
"It's not for those who can't do with their hands," Tommy grumbled. "And there's no excuse for mooching around with your head on crooked."
"Which just goes to show," Gwen reflected, "that the Friendly are chosen people and it's nothing to do with blood or mothers."
"Chosen by whom?" I inquired.
"Well-asked," Tommy said. "Your wit's as sharp as ever."
The first of the caravan passed the turn for the main road then. Tommy pulled out of the string, making for my shop.
"Hear there's a man out at The Pines," he said, as we drove up the road. It was quiet, not many people on the street, and those who were stopped and watched with equal amounts of pleasure and anxiety as the truck came past. The relationship of the Friendly to Low Ferry is...complicated.
"I suppose you have this kid to thank for that," I said, tilting my head to the side and knocking the boy with it. He took the hint and leaned back. "Why, are you headed out there to camp?"
"Thought we might. Think he's liable to chase us off?"
"Just a renter," I replied. "Name's Lucas. He's not likely to try and talk to you, let alone make trouble."
"Very good," Tommy decided. "We're not in a way to offer much of a bribe."
"Bad year?"
"Not so bad as some," Gwen said.
"Well, wait around here a while, I'm sure you'll do decent business," I said. "Pull up – come in for a little while? Make you a hot drink and let you put your feet up."
"Won't say no," Tommy said, parking the camper in front of the shop. The boy and his friend jumped out of the truck and ran off to the cafe, probably to spread the word of the Friendly's arrival. I held the door for Tommy and Gwen, then led the way up the stairs and into my kitchen. Tommy sat at the table, stretching out his legs and leaning back comfortably. Gwen, entirely unself-conscious, sat cross-legged on the bed after shedding her muddy shoes on the kitchen mat.
"So you aren't in good health," Tommy said, as I rummaged in the cupboards.
"Tea or coffee? No, I'm fine," I replied.
"Tea please."
"English Breakfast or Jasmine?"
"Jasmine, and don't change the subject," Gwen interrupted. "A trip to city and a tired look and the boy said you'd been ill. Doesn't look like influenza to me, or gout or – one of Cupid's diseases, maybe?"
I laughed and shook my head while I ran the water. "Just a matter of the heart."
"Oh," Tommy said, raising his eyebrows. "My father had matters of the heart. He took the nitroglycerine. Died in bed, though."
"Well, that's a peaceful way to go, eh?" I asked, putting the kettle on the stove.
"Not according to his third wife," Gwen said with a giggle.
Tommy coughed. "Tell us more about this man at The Pines."
I hesitated, feeling oddly unwilling to discuss Lucas with them. He'd be terrified of a band of strangers camping on his doorstep and I didn't want to arm them any more than they already were by dint of his shyness and silence.
"He won't run you off, but you're best settled not too close to the cottage," I said finally. "He's shy and from city. He doesn't take easily to strange people."
"Low Ferry like him?"
"Oh, I suppose so. Don't dislike him, anyway." It occurred to me that more people spoke to me about Lucas than spoke to Lucas himself. "But if you take my advice you'll leave him in peace."
"Scared for us or for him?" Gwen asked.
"I'm not scared for anyone," I protested.
"What's he do?" Tommy asked.
"He's an artist."
"Oho!" Gwen laughed. "Painter? Photographer?"
"More of a sculptor," I said. "He makes masks. He was Fire Man at the Halloween celebration this year."
"We were sorry to miss that," Tommy said. "Like to meet this fellow, I think."
"You can come with us," Gwen offered. "To make sure nobody needs your services as a knight."
"Well, wait a little while, at least," I said. The kettle began to whistle. "I'm dead on my feet."
"Oh, we'll be setting up camp tonight at any rate," Tommy said. I passed him a mug and held one out for Gwen, who got off the bed and came to the table.
Talk turned from The Pines to news of the village, as I poured the tea, and then to news of the Friendly. Their family connections are wide and varied, traveling as much as they do: itinerant craftsman and migrant workers, they make their living buying and selling goods or doing odd-jobs. These days nomads in America often get in trouble for theft or fraud, by the Friendly are good people and don't deserve the reputation they get.