Page 69 of In These Hills

“Yes, ma’am.” Calla’s voice went quiet. “My heart just got a little over tilted there for a minute.”

“And with good reason.” Miss Mary touched her shoulder. “You know, I remember, too,” she whispered. “Every year. I honor your wish not to speak of it, but that doesn’t mean I forget. I never will.”

Calla offered a weak smile. “Thank you, ma’am.” She looked as though she might cry again, then pushed herself up. “Well, you best have a piece of this cake our Josephine made. Lemon sauce or no, it’s mighty good.” Calla gripped Josephine’s hand, gratitude clear in her eyes. “You done good, my friend. Now let me bank the stove fire and get these weary bones to bed.”

“I’ll take care of the stove.” Miss Mary gestured. “You go on.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you both.”

Miss Mary reached for the knife. “Calla, there’s no nutmeg in this bread, is there?”

Calla turned back. “No, ma’am. No nutmeg.”

“Well, good. Because I cannot stand nutmeg.”

“How well I know. But if you die before me, ma’am, you know what I’m gonna do.”

“You better not go sprinkling nutmeg on my casket. I’ll come back and haint you good!”

Miss Mary’s wry smile bookended with Calla’s soft chuckle as she left felt like the brief lifting of a veil. Josephine didn’t know how far back these two went together, but they had a bond. That was undeniable.

What was also undeniable was that Calla was hurting. Over what, she didn’t know. Only that, sometime in the past, something painful had happened to Calla this time of year. She also knew now why Calla always chewed mint leaves.

Miss Mary cut a slice of gingerbread and took a bite, her color looking noticeably better. “Not bad . . . Josephine. Not bad at all.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Josephine wasn’t sure which meant more to her—Miss Mary’s praise or that she’d called her by her first name. “Calla’s a good teacher.”

“You couldn’t learn from a better cook.” Miss Mary cut herself another piece. “I wanted to speak with you about room and board.”

“I should be paid tomorrow, so—”

“Already?” Miss Mary nodded. “Good. Uncle Jack says he’s pleased with your work, which pleases me.” She met Josephine’s gaze. “How does a dollar and a half a week sound? Provided you keep helping Calla as you have been? She’s got more on her plate than usual.”

“That’s more than fair, ma’am, and I’ll help her however I can.” With Mr. Daniel paying her fifteen dollars a week, that left over thirteen dollars, plenty to send to Sarah and still be able to save some. “I truly appreciate you putting your good name on the line for me.”

Thinking of her conversation with Mr. Prince just now, she imagined what Miss Mary would do if made aware of her plan to disrupt the distillery’s production. She would simply have to make sure whatever she did couldn’t be traced back to her.

“And you’re welcome to the library. Same as the tenants.” Miss Mary used the fire poker to open the side of the stove. “Still no word from your husband?”

“No, ma’am. And there’s no way he knows I’m here.” Josephine covered the gingerbread with a fresh dishcloth, then placed their plates and utensils in the washbasin.

Miss Mary returned the poker to its hook. “I’ve heard a rumor. I need to know if it’s true.”

Josephine didn’t flinch but faced her full on. “I think I know what you’re going to say. Because Mr. Coburn already confronted me about it, as did Calla earlier. And the answer is no. My father didn’t beat me and I’m not pregnant.”

Miss Mary slowly nodded. “Well, well . . . Calla’s asking doesn’t surprise me. Dodge Coburn, though—then again, that man is as True North as they come.”

Josephine suspected that to be accurate. “His niece doesn’t care for me very much.”

“That’ll pass soon enough. That sweet girl’s still grieving her loss. We all are. Some days it’s hard to believe Kathleen’s gone. Sometimes life just doesn’t turn out the way you think it will, does it?”

“Most times,” Josephine said softly.

As they reached the hall, Miss Mary paused. “You have surprised me, Josephine. And I am not often surprised.”

“Thank you for that. I—”

“Don’t misunderstand my meaning. I still don’t think you’re telling me the truth. At least not the whole of it. But I’m trusting that in time you will. And until then, I’m also trusting that whatever you’re hiding won’t come back on me.”