heart of gold—but her wicked smile suggested at least a small kinship. Keturah nodded. “Shakespeare, Burns, and Blake!” “‘Tis small wonder she relented. You should read her poetry every day.” Keturah giggled, but a voice in her head waged an indignant protest. Why must I scheme like a naughty child to spend a few hours away from the farm? And from Caleb? The vast green and gray Ohio River absorbed the road, reminding her that Mama feared it like a monster serpent coiling among forests and farms.