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from the general hum of conversation was challenging, like putting a jigsaw puzzle together, and it kept her from remembering. The tightness in her chest eased.
    Light flared against the dark trees beside the path ahead. She looked up at the man who had lit the torch in its box of sand, watched as he closed his lantern and climbed down the ladder of short cross boards nailed to the post. A young dark-haired woman stood in the flickering light writing something on a piece of paper that rested on top of a slender wooden box.
    â€œClarice!”
    Her tent mate turned and looked up the path.
    She waved her hand and hurried forward. “I see you are taking notes for your ‘Chautauqua Experience’ article.” She peered down at the paper. “What did you call the man—Mr. Lamplighter?”
    â€œNo. I named him Mr. Torch Man. It’s more accurate and colorful.” Clarice slipped the paper into the box, latched it and held it against her chest. “Are you going to the concert? If so, we can walk together.”
    It would be better than sitting alone in the tent remembering.
She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Yes, I am.” She started back down the path, glanced over at Clarice. “Would you like me to carry that box for a bit? You must get tired of carrying it around.”
    â€œNo, thank you—though you are kind to offer.” Clarice looked down and patted the box. “I always keep these writing supplies with me. I never know when something will happen that will fit into an article, or even become one.”
    â€œSuch as when I embarrassed myself in front of Dr. Austin?”
And Grant Winston.
Her stomach sank at the thought, though he’d been most kind and treated her faux pas with humor.
    â€œExactly! That incident inspired me to go an entirely different direction with my article for the
Sunday School Journal
. And it will make it ever so much better. Thank you.”
    Marissa dipped her head. “You’re very welcome—as long as I remain anonymous.”
    â€œYou shall.” Clarice stepped out from the cover of the trees along the path. “Oh, my! Only look at that crowd! How am I ever to make my way to a place by the musicians?”
    â€œHow are you ever going to
find
the musicians?” She stepped close to the trees, out of the way of the people coming off the path, and stared in amazement at the land on their right. People surrounded the striped canopy that had been erected at the edge of the lake, and from the canopy to the trees at the base of the hill there was no land visible, only people. Most of them were seated on the ground. Those coming were milling about, looking for a place to sit. The blend of their voices as they chatted with one another put her in mind of a swarm of bees.
    â€œWell, I’d best hurry. Dusk is falling and the concert will be starting soon.” Clarice looked at her. “Are you coming?”
    â€œNot I!” She smiled and gave a fake shudder. “You shall have to brave that crowd by yourself. I will listen to the music from over there—” she gestured to the empty shore on the other side of the path “—in solitude.”
    â€œCoward.” Clarice clutched her box tight to her chest. “I’ll see you at the tent if I survive!”
    * * *
    Grant glanced over his shoulder again. People were still streaming by on the path outside. Something was drawing them. Perhaps this was the opportunity for the “chance” meeting with Marissa he’d been thinking about. He slipped off the bench and stepped out from under the canopy making as little disturbance as possible. He’d already lost track of the experiment, but it didn’t pertain to farming anyway. There was nothing in today’s session that would help him with the vineyard, and it was getting dark. He frowned at the dusky light and pulled his watch from his pocket. The steamer would be leaving