“Because things…important things…have names. They just do. I can tell you the name of every flower in the Falls, all of those trees,” I said, gesturing behind him. “And it’s infuriating that I don’t know what to call you.”
He held up his hands, utterly guileless. “I tried giving you a name, and you didn’t like it. Call me whatever you want, then. It doesn’t matter what you choose.”
“But it does! It should! There’s a reason why I knew that ‘Price’ wasn’t your name. It didn’t fit you. Names are meant to have meaning.”
“You can bestow on them all the meaning you want, but in the end, does it ever really matter?” He pointed down to a bright orange marigold near his boot. “I don’t know the name of that flower, but I know it smells sweet, and if I burn myself, I know it will take the sting away.”
“It’s Calendula arvensis. A field marigold,” I added softly.
“Now you’re naming things in Latin?” He rolled his eyes away to the woods, and I feared I’d pressed too hard. “What’s ‘Ellerie’ mean?”
I paused. “Cheerful.”
He rubbed at his chin. “And I can see I’ve made you anything but.” When his eyes met mine, they were darker, tinged nearly as green as the—
“Whitaker,” I decided suddenly. “I’m going to call you ‘Whitaker.’ ”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “You look at me and see a Whitaker?”
“I looked at them.” I pointed to the hundreds of trees behind him. “You probably don’t care, but those are white firs. They can grow over a hundred feet tall, and their branches are thickest at the base, covering the forest floor. Without a path, it would be almost impossible to walk through even an acre of them all clustered together. Completely impenetrable. Just like you.”
He stared down at me, his gaze fixed with an intensity so strong, I wanted to look away, but felt too pinned in place to move. “ ‘Whitaker’ it is.” He reached his hand out as if we were meeting for the first time. “Hello there. I’m new to Amity Falls. Name’s Whitaker Price.”
“Ellerie Downing,” I said, placing mine around his to shake.
“Pleasure meeting you, Ellerie Downing.”
As he pulled away, I caught a glimpse of the four-leaf clover he’d pressed to the center of my palm. He strode down the trail without a goodbye, but just before he disappeared into the trees, he turned back to wink at me.
“We’re having a guest at dinner tonight,” I announced, bursting into the kitchen through the back door.
Mama looked up from Sadie’s birthday cake. As promised, she’d modified her recipe to create a truly spectacular tiered masterpiece. I’d never seen such thin cakes, perfectly balanced by the same amount of custard cream. There was a large base and a smaller middle. At the top of the tiniest tier were eight pink candles no bigger than matchsticks. I knew Papa must have dipped them especially for Sadie. We usually never bothered to dye our candles. The natural amber tone from the beeswax created a warm and happy glow all on its own. It didn’t need altering.
But Sadie loved pink. And Papa loved Sadie.
“A visitor?” Mama asked. She set down the sifter of cake crumbs to give me her full attention.
“That new trapper. Papa wanted to invite him over for supper sometime, and—”
“On Sadie’s birthday?” she interrupted, a frown marring her expression.
“Well, no. I ran into him while I was out getting flowers for her crown. I invited him, not Papa. I knew you were making a lot of food, and it seemed like the kind thing to do. He’s been at a campsite all this time.”
She picked up the sifter with a knowing look and continued dusting the cake. “And is this lonely, friendless trapper also masquerading as a handsome young man?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hide my smile. “Maybe. Though I’m sure he’s also an excellent trapper.”
Mama’s gaze flickered over the chain of clover blossoms still tangled in my hair. “Looks like it.”
“Where’s Merry?” I asked, glancing about the empty kitchen.
“Oh, out there…again,” Mama said, gesturing to the flower fields.
I peered out the window.
Merry stood in the middle of the fields, her arms outstretched wide to the sky. Her face was pointed toward the sun, like a morning glory seeking warmth. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved with fervent repetition.
“Is she…singing?”
“Praying.”
“Praying? For the flowers?”
“Maybe. Or a boy,” she reasoned, amusement coloring her voice.
Mama wiped her hands on her apron and joined me at the window. For a moment, we leaned against one another in companionable silence, watching Merry. “That girl feels things with every ounce of her soul. All my children do,” she added, tweaking my nose.
There was a rustle behind us as Sadie twirled into the kitchen.
Mama turned, smiling. “Well, what do you think of the cake? I looked over that picture in the book for inspiration—I think it turned out rather well, don’t you?”
“Oh, Mama, it’s so pretty!” she said, swooping in to plant a kiss on Mama’s cheek. “Even better than my first cake!”
“First?” I glanced at the counters, but only pans and bowls lay scattered across them.
“You’ve got something on your face, Sadie-Bird,” Mama said, returning the kiss. “A smudge of dirt or something….” She licked her thumb and wiped at the offending blemish. “That’s…not dirt.” Mama pulled her closer, sniffing. She rubbed Sadie’s skin once more before tentatively bringing her finger to her lips. “Sadie Elizabeth Downing,” she chastised. “What have you been eating?”
“A birthday present,” she said, visibly bewildered by Mama’s outburst.
“What present?” I asked, kneeling next to her. The corners of her lips were brown and her cheeks smudged. “You weren’t making mud pies, were you? You know better than to eat those.”
“I’m not a baby anymore!” Sadie exclaimed, and a sweet aroma wafted from her as she glowered at me.
“What is it?”
“It’s chocolate,” Mama said, rubbing the residue between her fingers. “Where on earth did you find it?”
Sadie’s small face scrunched into an ugly mask as tears began to fall. “Why is everyone being mean to me? It’s my birthday. All I did was eat my cake!”