a fine-looking man.”
A flash of dark eyes, muscled forearms and a dimpled cheek sparked in her memory. Averting her face, Mary opened her sewing box and took out her needle, avoiding the question, but her stomach tumbled. She had noticed and didn’t like it at all.
Raising her head, she met Martha’s stare.
“By the look on your face, Mary, I’d say you’ve noticed too.”
Once again the women turned toward her, their expressions full of speculation. Heat climbed Mary’s neck, but she forced a calm, indifferent tone. “His looks are unimportant. He’s pilfering hard-earned money out of our neighbors’ pockets.”
Martha poked the damp end of the thread through the eye of her needle. “Are you sure you’re right about that? I bought a bottle myself, and the sheriff’s wife claims that tonic eased his sour stomach after only one dose.”
With all this talk about the peddler and his remedy, Mary barely kept her hand steady to thread her needle. “The sheriff’s probably getting relief from the peppermint I smelled in that bottle.”
“Peppermint never helped the sheriff before. No reason it should now,” Martha said.
Successful at last, Mary knotted the end of her thread. “I’ve read about people believing in something so much the concoction works—for a while.”
Sally guffawed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whether his potion works or not, you’re wasting your energy, Mary, trying to run that peddler out of town. Men don’t have any inkling when they’re not wanted.”
How could he not? Hadn’t Mary made her feelings abundantly clear?
Fannie Whitehall moaned. “More like, men don’t have any inkling when they’re wanted.”
Sally patted the young woman’s shoulder. “Having trouble hog-tying that young reporter, Fannie dear?”
“James still hasn’t proposed. I’ll be old and gray before I’m married.” Fannie heaved another heavy sigh.
Sally skimmed a palm over her grizzled head. “I’m thankful Leviticus and Proverbs have a more positive view of getting old and gray.”
Laura Lawson’s silver-streaked hair sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the shop window. “I prefer salt over pepper, don’t you, Sally?”
“Yep, every one of these silver hairs represents a lot of living,” Sally said. “I’m right proud of ’em.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. Sally, Laura, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean getting old and gray is bad. It’s just I’m tired of waiting to start my life.”
Fannie frequently had to make amends for speaking before thinking, but the girl had a good heart and everyone quickly forgave her.
“Time rushes by, Fannie,” Laura said. “Best not waste a minute longing for the future, instead of enjoying the here and now.”
Mary gulped. How much time did she spend fretting about what could happen, instead of enjoying the hugs of her sons, who grew as fast as weeds in an untended vegetable garden?
“Besides, James is young. Boys don’t become men until they’re at least twenty-five,” Sally grumbled, then brightened. “Say, Fannie, with three grown sons, none of them married, I’d be beholden if you took one of them off my hands. I could use help skinning and dressing the game they kill. Why, you could move in with us—”
Eyes wide with horror, Fannie gasped.
Sally laughed. “I’m only teasing. Truth be told, my boys have lost their bragging rights as marksmen.”
“Your sons are…very nice, but I love James.” Fannie’s face glowed, verifying her statement. “I don’t want to wait forever to be his wife.”
An aching loneliness gnawed in Mary’s belly. Two years had passed since she’d lost Sam. Years before his death, more years than she cared to think about, she’d spent her evenings alone. To have someone to talk to, to share a sunset with, the small things she’d expected to share with a husband and never had, left a huge void that children, no matter how much she loved them, could not fill.
Still, she couldn’t imagine caring for another man. Sam’s death had hurt too much. Living with him had hurt even more. She’d never risk a second marriage.
The image of Luke Jacobs flitted through her mind. A hot day. Him on her porch, holding a glass of cold tea with a smile and an invitation to sit awhile. A shared kiss—
Her pulse leapt.
How could she even think of that man? The answer rattled through her mind. Luke Jacobs possessed charm, a way about him that wrapped her around his every word—just like Sam.
But Sam’s charm had covered a deep pain from a childhood of abuse, leading him to swig patent medicines. Later when he gave up the pretense, it led him into saloons to forget. She and the boys and endless years of prayer hadn’t been enough to keep Sam home.
Best to remember frosting can cover a bitter cake.
“Mary?” Addie said. “You look like you’re off somewhere. Is everything okay?”
A pair of dark, piercing eyes reappeared in Mary’s mind. With all the strength she possessed, she forced her thoughts away from Luke Jacobs and back to Addie’s question. “Fine. Fine. Say, how are William and Emma doing in school?”
“William is at the head of his class. I can’t say the same for Emma.” Addie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Charles says not to worry. She’ll charm her way through life.”
Sally snipped a thread. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Mary saw plenty wrong with charm. “Emma may not be a leading student, but she’s already designing hats. Mark my words, Addie, one day you’ll turn the shop over to her capable hands.”
“Whatever path they take,” Laura said. “We’re all grateful to you, Adelaide, for saving those orphans from a life of terror.”
The group quieted, each face growing somber, remembering how Addie’s suspicions had led to Ed Drummond’s arrest for not only beating Frances half to death but for murdering Frances’s mother. Ed had planned to kill Addie and hide the act by starting a fire. Charles not only saved her life, but he won her heart. Now Charles, Addie and their children lived happily ever after. A storybook ending Mary couldn’t imagine.
Laura inched her needle along a gingham petal, adding a white edge to the pink and white design. “I saw Frances at the grocery. Now that she’s healed up and that awful man she’s married to is in jail for life, she looks ten years younger.”
“Ed Drummond should’ve hung,” Martha said. “How could a man go to church as regular as a ticking clock yet kill his mother-in-law and beat on his family? I can’t believe how he had us all fooled.”
Tears stung the back of Mary’s eyes. In his childhood, Sam had lived with abuse—Charles too. This town had suffered more than its share of violence. People’s lives had been changed, some for the better, but for others, life
