Written In Stone

stealing?" Angie grinned at the shocked look on Mrs. Waterston's face. Then the kitchen maid, Maybl, began serving a breakfast of eggs, pork sausage, mush, and biscuits with gravy.
    ~ * ~
    Bored stiff, Angie sat dutifully still on the hard wooden bench in the back of the sanctuary, her back beginning to hurt. Her wheelchair was just outside the door since it would block the aisle, and she now wished she had at least brought the cushion from it. The preacher droned on for nearly two hours, and Angie began to think he was never going to stop. When it was finally, and thankfully, over, she gratefully accepted Mrs. Waterston's help to move back into the wheelchair. Mrs. Waterston wheeled her outside beneath a giant elm tree in the shade then went to help the ladies arrange dishes of food on red-checkered cloth-covered tables. There was fried chicken, potato salad, biscuits, gravy, corn on the cob, and an assortment of cobblers and pies for dessert.
    The pastor walked over to her and politely asked, " Mrs. Elliott, how are you faring?"
    "I am doing very well, Reverend Tisdale. A beautiful day for a picnic," Angie said, changing the subject before he began his usual lecture on the power of prayer and how God had a plan for everyone, even when one couldn't see what that plan might be. It wasn't that Angie didn't believe, but after hearing it at least thirty times, his speech became monotonous.
    "Yes, a very lovely day."
    Fortunately, Mrs. Waterston arrived with a plate of food for Angie.
    "Here you are, dear."
    "Thank you." Angie smiled at the older woman and took the plate.
    "Reverend, why don't you come with me and sit at the table. I'll fix you a nice plate," Mrs. Waterston said, taking him by the arm and walking toward the tables.
    "Good day, Mrs. Elliott," the reverend called over his shoulder. Angie waved with her fork and exhaled, silently thanking Mrs. Waterston for rescuing her.
    Angie ate slowly, politely saying hello to a number of friends she hadn't seen in some time and others introduced by Mrs. Waterston. Gratefully, Angie thought she had made it; the picnic was almost over, and soon she would be able to go home and take a nap. She really was tired and it didn't help that the cushion between her bottom and the wooden wheelchair seat smashed flat. Just when she thought she could politely say her good-byes, a man's voice caught her off-guard.
    " Mrs. Elliott," he said, "it's so nice to see you again."
    Angie shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she looked up to see the man she'd met at the ball the night before. "Hello, Mr. Stone, how are you?"
    "Please excuse my rude behavior," he apologized. "I didn't notice last night." He gestured awkwardly with one hand.
    Angie smiled. "You weren't rude, Mr. Stone. I wasn't in this chair last night, so you had no way of knowing. Please, won't you join me?"
    "Of course," Gavin replied, pulling a chair near Angie's side. "I feel like a fool now, Mrs. Elliott, for asking you to dance."
    "I should have said something, but it's not something I announce upon a first meeting." Angie looked closely at Mr. Stone and thought him very strange. Here it was, the middle of May with temperatures so high the Devil himself would be most comfortable, and this man was dressed peculiarly.
    His trousers were black and made of a very dense material Angie didn't recognize, his shirt also black, and his black topcoat was heavy as well. His collar was high, he wore leather gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat perched upon his head. She watched as he made certain he was in the shade at all times; he kept moving his chair as the sun moved across the sky. Perhaps he had sensitive skin, but she couldn't understand why he didn't even seem to perspire. The heat was intense, and getting hotter with every passing minute.
    She also noticed the blue of his eyes was not normal either. They seemed as blue as the summer sky but so brilliant they nearly hurt Angie's eyes to look at them, and she could have sworn they even glowed. She remembered from the night before that his hair was black and his skin almost luminescent, perfect skin, actually. He didn't have a blemish anywhere on his face, except for a small scar on his cheek that seemed uncharacteristically out of place, though it did lend ruggedness to his profile. He was quite tall and she could tell even through the heavy clothing he wore she could tell he was powerfully built. He moved with a gracefulness that made Angie think of the ballet. He was a