“Carlisle had something in mind for the house and went to the Little Sal, poking along its sandbars, looking for driftwood. He smelled the smoke from Susanna Benteen’s fire before he saw her. The river narrowed there, with twenty-foot bluffs rising on either side. She was sitting beneath a rock overhang, a small fire before her, looking at the water. He almost backed off but instead stood quietly. She seemed to be concentrating on something, and he didn’t want to disturb her. And, to be perfectl...y honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with her. Carlisle was comfortable around women, but there was something about this woman that unsettled him, and, of course, just as unsettling were the images he still had of her dancing across the wooden floors of his house. In convincing her to perform her special blessing, the Indian had attributed to Carlisle more cosmic awareness than he deserved. That’s how Carlisle saw it. A fully mature consciousness, he supposed, would dwell on the goodness she and the Indian bestowed upon this place and upon him, Builder.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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