Page 88 of Eleanor’s Earrings

Lydia ran.

Eleanor looked back at Nathaniel. “Take them off.”

“I am trying.”

One glove had become stuck.

Rebecca examined the situation. “You may lose the hand.”

Nathaniel looked alarmed.

“She is joking,” Eleanor said.

Rebecca shrugged. “Probably.”

Eleanor pulled the glove free.

Nathaniel flexed his fingers. “You rescued me.”

“Do not become sentimental.”

“Should I search a river for something?”

“That joke was terrible.”

“You smiled.”

“No.”

“You did.”

Rebecca said, “She did.”

Eleanor looked at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“The entertaining one.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Wise policy.”

Eleanor put on her gloves. “I dislike all of you.”

Nathaniel smiled. “Not all.”

She walked away before he saw her blush.

The next clear evening, the camp discovered that Lydia Whitaker should never be given responsibility for organized entertainment.

She announced storytelling after supper.

Eleanor looked up from the cup she was drying. “Who gave you permission?”

“No one.”

“That was my first concern.”

Lydia climbed onto an overturned crate near the largest fire. “Everyone is tired of talking about wheels, mud, oxen, weather, and how many miles we failed to travel.”

Nathaniel, seated on a log, said, “Some of us find those subjects fascinating.”