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hair.
    He shuddered and stripped down to his boxers and looked at the fresh white sheets. Mrs. Kelly had turned the covers down so that a crisp white triangle welcomed him to the bed. Sackett’s Land was the name of the book on the night table beneath a small lamp. Harrison climbed into the bed, propping himself up on two pillows, and opened the book.
    The first words made him go cold.

Chapter Twelve
    â€œIt was my devil’s own temper that brought me to grief . . .”
    Harrison looked around the room. A car drove by down on the street. He listened to it disappear and then to the quiet ticking sounds of the house. He thought he could just make out the murmur of Coach and his wife talking in their bed. Were they talking about him?
    He had no doubt the first words of this book were meant to scold him for his past deeds and his own devil’s temper that led to the death of Mr. Constable. Curious, he read some more.
    â€œ. . . my temper and a skill with weapons born of my father’s teaching.”
    He stopped again. That didn’t fit him. No one had ever taught him anything about weapons, and certainly not his father. Harrison had no idea who his father was.
    While the second part of the first sentence made him less certain the book was meant as a message to him, it made him even more interested to go on.
    Harrison read, and read, and read.
    He only stopped to look up at the sound of a soft knock on his bedroom door.
    He laid the book on his chest.
    The knock came again.
    â€œYes?” he asked.
    The door opened a crack. Mrs. Kelly peeked in. “You like it?”
    Harrison nodded. “There’s a lot of fighting. With swords.”
    â€œGood. I’m so glad you like it, Harrison, and I hate to even say this, but it’s getting very late and I just don’t want you to be tired on your first day. Okay?”
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    â€œJust after midnight.”
    Harrison looked at the night outside his window. “Okay.”
    â€œGood night, Harrison.”
    â€œGood night, Mrs. Kelly.”
    Mrs. Kelly’s head disappeared, only to reappear a moment later. “You don’t have to call me Mrs. Kelly. It makes me think of Coach’s mother. I know you might not want to call me Mom, although you’re welcome to, but I’m guessing that may take some time.”
    â€œMrs. Coach?”
    That made her laugh. “Oh, no. Please, not that. How about Jennifer? That’s my name.”
    â€œWould Coach be okay with that? I mean, you’re a grown-up.”
    â€œI think Coach will love it. Good night, Harrison.”
    â€œGood night, Mrs.—” Harrison swallowed. “Good night . . . Jennifer.”
    â€œVery nice.”
    Harrison turned out the light and whispered her name twice to himself. As he lay alone in the dark, he thought about the story he had begun and about the main character, Barnabas Sackett. Then he thought about himself. Barnabas had found an old purse with gold coins that was the beginning of his fortune. Maybe tomorrow he’d find his own bag of gold coins. Maybe it would be the game of football, a thing he’d dreamed of for so long.
    He imagined himself the star of the team, the boy everyone wanted to be, and he couldn’t see that picture in his mind without the girl, Becky, standing beside him.
    With that thought, and a smile on his face, Harrison slept.

Chapter Thirteen
    THE NEW JEANS JENNIFER had put out for him were a little stiff, but the blue cotton shirt with its polo collar felt almost as soft as his bed sheets. Jennifer made eggs over easy with whole wheat toast. Before he ate, though, she boiled a clear plastic football mouthpiece, dipped it into cold water, and helped Harrison mold it to his teeth. He then tucked it into his pants pocket so that he wouldn’t misplace it. Coach was all business, reading the paper and drinking two cups of coffee, before he stood with a