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Gilding the Waters: A Novel of Lost Causes and Found Love

By Catherine Richmond

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“Pretty as a peach,” drawled a deep voice above the burble of the creek.
Mabel glanced over her shoulder. Sunlight through the elm trees outlined a lanky man wearing a limp-brimmed hat, plaid shirt, and tattered pants. A long-eared hound panted beside him. The man couldn’t possibly be speaking to her, but no one else occupied the mountain laurel grove encircling the spring.
The current pulled the Erlenmeyer flask from her hand and floated it out of reach. “Quick! Before it breaks. Do you have anything—”
The mountain man carried a firearm.
Mabel held out her hand while watching the container bob in a circle. “I can reach it with your gun.”
He stepped backwards, which, given the length of his legs, put him out of range. “Warrenton House sells bottled water.”
Stubborn hillbilly. She worked her way downstream, estimating the trajectory of the container. If it didn’t crash against the rocks— “I must collect my own sample.” Here it comes. “It’s the only way to ensure—” Just a bit closer. “For scientific integrity, one must-”
“Those rocks slippery as deer guts.”
“Your warning is duly noted.” Mabel stepped over a cluster of yellow flowers, found a flat spot of moss beside the creek, and knelt. The rotten-egg smell of sulphur tweaked her nose.
“So who you fetchin’ samples for?”
“President Theodore Roosevelt.”
He chuckled. “Suppose the asylum’s missing you ‘bout now?”
The flask floated into Mabel’s hand and she emptied it. Each sample must be taken at the mouth of the spring, to prevent contamination by organisms and minerals from the creek. “You’ve not heard of the National Conservation Commission?” In these backwoods? Of course not.
“Course.” He, or possibly the dog, made a snorting noise. “You can’t tell me the president sent you to steal this here water.“
“God made the springs. The water belongs to His people.”
“Hotel burned down seven years ago.” He nodded toward the bare ridge behind them. “Case you didn’t notice.”
“In case you didn’t notice, plenty of people still drink this water.” Mabel waved her arms. This bumpkin must have noticed the white brick cottages strung like decorative edging on the bowl of the valley. “If Mr. Wade Hampton Alexander truly cared about improving his customers’ health, he wouldn’t mind having his water tested.”
“What makes you so sure it hasn’t been tested?”
“By a scientific laboratory? I think not.” She marched upstream to the waist-high opening in the hillside.
“You think not? I’m a-guessing you think too much.”
“Can anyone think too much?” One hand clutching the capstone, Mabel stretched toward the bubbling which marked the spring’s outlet. “We must all, to be worthy of this new century, think as much as—” The flagstone beneath her feet tilted. The pool rose up to meet her face.
“Whoa!” The hillbilly yelled and his dog added an urgent “Woof!”

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