Page 115 of Charlotte

“That pencil has confessed,” Cornelia said from the shelf.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It has no more secrets to reveal.”

Lottie looked down at the broken point and set the pencil aside. “I am perfectly calm.”

“No one accused you otherwise.”

“You implied it.”

“I am a schoolteacher. Implication is one of my few entertainments.”

Lottie almost smiled.

Cornelia crossed to the lending table and set down a stack of children’s primers. “Have you eaten?”

“I am not hungry.”

“That was not the question I asked.”

Lottie narrowed her eyes. “You and Delly have been speaking.”

“Frequently. We live in the same town.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

“At least you are honest.”

Cornelia leaned one hip against the table. “She is worried.”

“Delly worries the way some people breathe.”

“That does not mean she is wrong to want you fed.”

Lottie sighed and reached for the biscuit wrapped in a cloth beside the ledger. Delly had brought it that morning without comment, placed it beside Lottie’s inkpot, and left before either sister could become sentimental about bread.

Lottie took a bite because she loved her sister, and because hunger made a poor weapon against sorrow. She took a second larger bite, because a full mouth would mean she wasn’t required to talk.

Outside, another hammer struck. She looked toward the window before she could stop herself.

Cecil stood at the edge of the schoolhouse lot, speaking to Jebediah Simms. Jeb looked tired, even from a distance. Delly stood beside him with her bonnet strings untied, one hand resting near her notebook as if she had forgotten whether she was still using it.

They looked like two people standing on opposite sides of the same bridge and refusing to step. Lottie knew that feeling.

Jeb said something. Delly answered. Neither of them moved closer.

Cecil looked from one to the other, then away.

Lottie could not read his expression from across the street. She was grateful for that. Reading him had become dangerous.

By noon, the town’s work shifted toward the beach, where the men were preparing the festival grounds. The Independence Jubilee would not properly take place until Saturday night, but Wild Rose Ridge had decided preparation counted as wholesome excitement and therefore might be enjoyed early.

Lottie went down with Cornelia, carrying a small basket of ribbons and three clean cloths Mrs. Beck insisted might be useful for something.

The beach stretched below the town in a wide, pale curve, busy with motion. Fresh-cut lumber had been stacked near the edge of the sand. Men were setting posts for the temporary platform where the musicians would play.