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“No, you do not. All right, then. You know that I will always support you in any decision you make. Now, for a change of subject. Have you stopped over at Molly’s house recently, to see the addition Paul is putting on?”
“No, not for a while. To tell you the truth, Molly scares me a little. She is determined to re-order poor Paul’s entire existence to her own liking, and he, deluded soul, seems perfectly willing to go alon
g with anything she wants.”
“To each their own, I suppose. As long as they’re both happy, that’s probably all that matters, don’t you think? Meanwhile, her grand piano is still under wraps in our barn—and likely will be till next spring, when the music room is finished. I couldn’t imagine why she wanted to drag that huge thing all the way south, but she had her heart set on it.”
“And what about Ben’s plans to make over the barn into a stable, so you two can keep your own horse and rig?”
With a sigh, Camellia spread her hands wide in a dramatic gesture. “I’m afraid he’ll just have to be patient. However, he may get tired of waiting, and move things around out there to his satisfaction. Because I do know he would definitely like to have things in place before the baby arrives.”
“Well, as for Molly, she is doing one nice thing, anyway. Here, want another cookie, Cam? More tea? Molly has decided to volunteer at the church, playing for the Sunday services. Rev. Beecham is delighted.”
Another shift of position, a rearrangement of pillows. Two, this time. “So am I. We owe that man such a debt. The least any of us can do is help out when they need it.”
“Well, I did my part,” insisted Hannah, with a grin. “I bought a pie at the bakery and took it to Thanksgiving dinner.”
Camellia giggled. “You really must learn to cook, Hen. Or are you too busy being a hard-headed business woman these days to spend time in the kitchen?”
“If that’s your subtle way of asking whether I like my work, I can tell you I do. You never know what will happen, once you start searching out news for the paper—whom you will talk to, what information you will be given, the sort of facts that might be divulged. It’s fascinating, and I’m so proud of myself that I was brave enough to barge into—I mean...that Mr. Crane offered me the job.” Another grin, more mischievous.
Family mystery solved. Everyone had wondered how Hannah’s opportunity had come about. More and more, it was seeming that this work, this responsibility, was exactly the sort of thing she needed. Even if she was running a side enterprise of digging in the dirt. Which, to put it with a large dose of whimsy, might very well correlate with what she was doing now at the Gazette office.
Hannah Burton could easily end up as the most famous, and the wealthiest resident of their little hamlet.
Shoving aside her afghan, Camellia rose somewhat creakily and stretched her arms overhead.
“Something I can get for you, Cam?”
“I’ve just been sitting in one place too long, Hen. I need to move a bit. Also, I’m starving, and it’s nowhere near time for supper. Let’s go see what’s available in the kitchen.”
By the time Ben returned from the store a little later, the sisters were huddled over the kitchen table, enjoying plates of snacks culled from the cold safe.
They had exchanged tidbits about Letty and Reese (nothing really new, there, except that Letty had presented her husband with one of Abel Norton’s rambunctious pups, and that in itself required adaptation), gossiped about any of the town doings which had not yet hit the newspaper (Mrs. McKnight was stepping out with a younger man, identity unknown), and discussed plans for the future (everything rosy so far, and would remain so, God willin’ and the Creek don’t rise).
“Huh. Went ahead and had supper without me, didja? Hard-workin’ husband comes home, hungry as a hog, and nothin’ here to eat.” Shaking the rain droplets off his hat, he hung up his coat, dashed his hands into a basin of water, and snagged one large chunk of cheese from the platter. “That don’t seem quite fair. Rainin’ to beat the band out there, and here you are, snug as a bug.”
He bent to press his cold cheek against Camellia’s. Romance. And subterfuge. Adroitly he grabbed a couple of Hannah’s bakery cookies.
“Oh, wait, Ben, dear. I’m sorry—we got to talking, and I lost track of time. It won’t take but a minute to heat up some potatoes and the last of the roast. You deserve something hearty.”
Immediately Hannah rose to collect used crockery for a trip to the sink. “I’ve intruded long enough, anyway. Let me gather my things, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Don’t rush off on my account,” said Ben amiably, lifting the lid of the teapot only to realize it was empty. “Stay and eat with us.”
“No, no. I have things to do. A book to read. Ads to pursue.” She flashed one quick glance at Camellia.
“Well, hang on there, sister-in-law.” Ben, who had picked up the Gazette from its place on the settee, turned back. “You maybe ain’t looked outside the window lately, it bein’ so close to dark, and all, but it’s comin’ down cats and dogs. Lemme get our ole bumbershoot, and I’ll walk you home.”
Hannah felt a great rush of gratitude for his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Ben, I’d really appreciate that. I suppose now I’ll have to retract all those dreadful complaints I’ve made about you.”
“Huh.” He snorted. “I wouldn’t bet on that happenin’ anytime soon.”
“You know I love you, right?”
“You have to. We’re family.”
They both laughed.
