compared to the meals she’d prepared. He gave an inflated groan, just to let her know his appreciation.
Amelia giggled and turned toward Bugsley. “Is the pie not to your liking?”
“No—yes,” he said, taking a bite. “It’s very good. I just haven’t had much of an appetite.”
Crofton bit back a grin at how Amelia frowned.
“Not eating isn’t good for the body, or the mind, no matter what the circumstances,” she said.
Perhaps he hadn’t given Amelia enough credit all these years. He may have been only a child, but he never recalled Amelia speaking ill of anyone, nor openly reproofing them. Hearing how she’d spoken about his mother earlier today had surprised him, except for the fact his mother deserved the scorn considering her actions. However, it appeared Amelia had a bushel of contempt for Bugsley Morton, and that increased his curiosity.
While taking another bite of pie, he let his gaze wander to Sara, wondering what her feelings were towards Bugsley. They had appeared friendly toward one another at the mortuary yesterday, but considering the circumstances, she’d needed a friend. Bugsley would have put himself into that roll as easily as he had put himself into Winston’s office at the lumber mill.
Counting on Amelia to put him in an even closer position, Crofton asked her, “Remember when you brought Sampson home for me?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes, but I didn’t exactly bring him home. He followed me. Poor thing was practically starved to death.”
“Who was Sampson?” Sara asked.
“A dog,” he answered. “The best one ever.”
“And biggest,” Amelia said. “He ate more than Crofton, which I didn’t think was possible. And goodness but that dog had hair. Long black hair that stuck to everything.”
Crofton laughed. “Good thing it was black and not white, otherwise we’d never have made it to church in time.” Turning to Sara, he explained, “She used to pick the hair off my clothes the entire way to town.”
“I swear that dog slept on your Sunday clothes—it was as if he thought that might keep you at home come Sunday morning.” Glancing at Sara, Amelia continued, “That dog went everywhere with Crofton. He’d walk him to school every morning, and then come home and lie on the porch until it was time to go back and walk him home. But I put my foot down when it came to church. He was so big he scared the daylights out of people.”
“He was big,” Crofton said. In all his years and travels, he’d never seen another dog as big as Sampson had been.
“And thank goodness he was,” Amelia said. “You would have drowned if not for that dog. Remember that?”
With his mouthful of pie, he could only nod.
“I should never have agreed to take you fishing. That river was much too high.” Once again including Sara in the conversation, Amelia said, “His hook got caught in the weeds and rather than break the line, he jumped in the water to unhook it. You know I can’t swim, and was scared to death. Crofton was only about seven. He was a good swimmer, but the current was strong because of the high water and before I knew it, he was heading downstream. Sampson ran along the bank until he was ahead of Crofton and then jumped in, swimming out for Crofton to grab a hold of him.”
“I did more than grab a hold,” Crofton said, having forgotten the incident until she brought it up. “I leaped onto his back.”
“He must have been a large dog,” Sara said.
“He was,” Crofton assured.
“Winston claimed the dog was bigger than a pony,” Amelia said. “He always joked about putting a saddle on him.”
Crofton had forgotten that, too. “We did once,” he said. “Father said not to tell you because you’d take a switch to both of us. Sampson wasn’t impressed so we never did it again.”
“Oh, you two,” Amelia said with a giggle. “What one of you didn’t think of, the other did. I said it was like having two children at times.” Shaking her head, she added, “No wonder that dog wouldn’t sleep in the barn.”
“That and my bed was far more comfortable.”
“Oh, and did your mother go into a tizzy over that. Every time she returned home, she’d have a conniption fit over that dog being in the house,” Amelia said.
That was something else Crofton had forgotten about. His mother’s ire at Sampson. All of a sudden, he could hear his father’s voice, Leave the boy and his dog alone, Ida.
“Return home?” Sara said with brows knit together. “Where was your mother?”
Crofton shrugged, he didn’t remember much about his mother back then, considering she was never around, but he had heard her side of things. “Baltimore, usually,” he said. “Her father worked for the B & O Railroad, the Baltimore and Ohio, and was ailing. She had to make several trips to see to his care.”
Though she hid it well, Crofton heard the huff that Amelia let out and saw the tightness of her lips. Bugsley, who had remained quiet the entire time, saw it, too, and Crofton was sure the man made a mental note of that.
The man pushed away from the table. “The pie was excellent, thank you.”
Amelia rose to her feet at the same time Bugsley did. “You two finish your coffee,” she said. “I’ll see Mr. Morton to the door.”
Crofton waited for Sara to protest, while considering if he should offer to walk Morton to the door. Amelia hadn’t changed much over the years, and he could tell she wanted the man gone without speaking to anyone. He wondered if that included him.
When Sara offered no protest, Bugsley said, “You and I will need to discuss a few things, Sara. Perhaps I could stop by tomorrow?”
“That will be fine,” she answered.
The other two left the room, and though his plate was empty and his coffee cold, Crofton didn’t attempt to rise.
“More coffee?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” he replied, wondering what his next steps should be. In his mind, he’d planned on being offered lodging at the house, but at the moment was feeling a bit intrusive. Perhaps it would be better if he got a room at the hotel. However, considering he wanted the entire town to view him as Winston’s son, staying here was an important factor.
The subtle silence that hovered over the table was broken when Sara asked, “What happened to Sampson?”
Crofton had wondered about that for years. He’d felt utterly abandoned that day all those years ago. Hadn’t understood why his father had taken Sampson. With a shrug, he said, “He came West with my father and Amelia and Nate.”
“No, he didn’t.” Having wasted no time in seeing Bugsley to the door, Amelia was already walking back into the dining room. “We left him with you—your father insisted upon it.”
Memories flowed stronger than they had in years, and he clearly remembered coming home from
