Mabel Roan's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Mabel settled onto the bench beneath the shade tree and squinted down the road. Two days now, no sign of Lance. Her grandson checked in twice a week, faithful as sunrise, but the druid girl wouldn't wait forever. Mabel needed Lance here, on this path, with Genevieve Thorn inside her cottage. She smiled to herself. A goal was only a goal until you made it happen. The trouble was Lance had grown wary. Ever since the fletcher business, he watched her sideways. She couldn't simply ask him to come. He'd arrive with that calm voice of his, the one that wasn't calm at all, and lecture her about meddling. So she needed a reason. A real one. Something he couldn't argue with. Mabel pushed herself up and shuffled to the stepping stones that led to her door. She studied the third one, wobbly for years, and gave it a firm nudge with her cane until it tilted. Then she lay down on the grass beside it, arranged her pastel skirts, and waited until a neighbor passed. "Fetch my grandson," she called weakly. "I've had a fall." Word traveled fast. By dusk Lance stood over her, jaw tight, helping her inside. "That's the second stone this month," he said flatly. "I'll fix the path tomorrow. I'm staying the night." Mabel patted his hand. Tomorrow Genevieve was due for her follow-up. Tomorrow they would both be here. The trap was set, and now her grandson was inside it.