Page 18 of Eleanor’s Earrings

Caroline’s humor faded for only a moment. Then she tapped the paper. “Which is why I intend to arrive in Clover Creek with enough information to argue with his ghost accurately.”

Eleanor leaned against her shoulder.

Caroline was the sister closest to her in age, the one who remembered Mother almost as clearly, the one who could challenge Eleanor without making her feel challenged by the world.

“You know,” Caroline said, “if you keep leaning on me, people may think you require help.”

“Say that again, and I will burn your mileage record.”

“You would never.”

“No.”

“I know.”

That was the irritating thing about sisters. They knew exactly which threats were empty.

Nathaniel discovered early that Eleanor saw asking for help as a personal failing and accepting unsolicited help as an act of war.

He learned this while watching her wrestle a water barrel into position beside the wagon.

“Move,” he said.

“I have it.”

“The barrel disagrees.”

“The barrel has no opinion.”

“It is rolling toward the wheel.”

Eleanor caught it with one boot. “Managed.”

Nathaniel dismounted. “You have bruised ribs.”

“I have ribs. Their mood is irrelevant.”

“They are attached to you.”

“Unfortunately.”

He took hold of the barrel.

Eleanor kept hold of it.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Nathaniel looked at her hands. “Are we going to carry this together?”

“No.”

“Are you going to let go?”

“No.”

“Then we appear to be carrying it together.”

“That is not the same thing.”