Page 2 of Mail Order Mercy

Everett came to stand beside him near the saw, his face serious beneath the brim of his hat. “Ella Sanders’s having a supper tonight. Belle and I are going. David said you were invited.”

Albert kept his eyes on the board he was guiding. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so, or you don’t want to see Dorothy Peabody?” Everett asked.

Albert’s jaw tightened. “Henry was my best friend.”

“I know he was.” Everett’s voice was quiet. “That may be the very reason you should go.”

Albert had not visited Dorothy since the crowded supper Ella had hosted weeks earlier. He had walked Dorothy and the children home that night, then told himself she needed women around her, not a mill hand who could hardly speak Henry’s name. Ella went. Belle went. Others in town surely went. He stayed away and called it respect because the truth hurt too much.

“I’ll think on it,” Albert said.

By the time Dorothy reached the Sanders’ home that evening, her arms ached from carrying Grace, and Tommy’s small hand was cold inside hers. Clara clung to Dorothy’s skirt, stepping carefully so she would not slip in the packed snow.

Ella opened the door before Dorothy could knock. Warmth rolled out of the house, along with the smell of meat, potatoes, fresh bread, and something sweet. Tommy leaned forward as if he could climb into the smell itself.

“Come in before you freeze,” Ella said. “David, take Tommy’s coat. Clara, I saved a place for you right near the stove.”

Albert was already there, standing near the wall with his hat in his hands. When Dorothy stepped into the room, he was struck again by how much thinner she looked than she had at Ella’s earlier gathering. She had always been slight, but now she looked as if the winter had been taking pieces of her day by day. Her cheeks were hollow, and the shadows beneath her eyes had deepened since the funeral.

He had seen Ella and the other women share food with Henry’s family. He had even walked Dorothy and the children home once. Then he had assumed those small kindnesses meant everything necessary was being done. He had assumed because assuming had allowed him to stay away.

“Dorothy,” Albert said, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears.

She gave him a polite smile. “Albert.”

There was too much between them for more than that. Henry had laughed with Albert, worked beside him, trusted him with things he trusted few men with. Albert had carried one side of Henry’s coffin. Dorothy had watched him do it and never saw him again.

Ella moved everyone to the table before the silence could grow heavy enough to crush them all. Belle talked about a shipment expected when the river opened again. Everett asked David about a repair on the Sanders roof. The conversation went on around Dorothy like the sound of the river under ice.

Tommy ate as if someone might take the plate from him. Dorothy touched his arm once, a silent reminder, but Ella only smiled and put another spoonful of potatoes near him.

Clara was quieter. She ate slowly, watching the adults when she thought no one noticed. Albert noticed. He noticed everything about Henry’s little girl because guilt had suddenly sharpened his eyes.

When Ella passed the biscuit plate, Clara took one and broke it in half. She ate one half with tiny bites and slipped the other into the pocket of her dress.

“Would you like another, Clara?” Ella asked gently.

Clara shook her head, then leaned toward Ella and whispered, “I’m saving this one for breakfast. We don’t have any flour left at home.”

The table went very still.

Dorothy’s face flushed red. “Clara.”

Clara’s eyes filled with confusion. “I was being careful, Mama.”

Dorothy closed her eyes for one brief moment. She had wanted to hide it. She had wanted to keep one small piece of dignity wrapped around herself like a shawl. Now Clara’s careful little secret lay bare on Ella’s table beside the biscuits.

David cleared his throat and looked toward Albert, not accusingly, but with a question that cut deeper than accusation. “When did you last check on Henry’s family after you walked them home from our gathering?”

Albert looked down at his plate. “I didn’t. Not properly.”

David said nothing more. He didn’t need to. Albert heard Henry’s voice as clearly as if his friend had been standing behind him. Look after them if anything happens to me. Henry had never said those exact words, but he had not needed to. Some things were understood between friends.

Albert had hidden behind his grief. He had let Ella and Belle and the rest of Yeti do what he should have done. He had abandoned his best friend’s widow because looking at her hurt too much.

Dorothy stood soon after, Grace heavy and sleepy against her shoulder. “Thank you for supper, Ella. Truly. The children are tired, and I should get them home.”