Most of the children tittered. Except for Brenna, who darted a sympathetic glance toward Louemma before scowling at Sarah.
Laurel wouldn’t let Sarah’s remark go. “Girls, there are artists who paint holding a brush in their mouth or with their toes. Everything is possible.”
Charity Madison and Alan Ridge, who’d gone into the kitchen, arrived back in time to hear Sarah’s rude statement.
“Sarah Michelle Madison!” Her mother set down a tray of juice and cookies, and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “If I hear you speak in that manner again, you won’t go to the new Disney movie tonight.”
The child jerked out of her mom’s grip, but although her expression was one of stormy resistance, she bit back any response that may have run through her mind.
Charity paused behind Louemma. “Pay Sarah no mind, hon. Her daddy says she’s going through another phase. Oh, my! Look what you all have made in the few minutes I’ve been gone.” Charity leaned across the table to admire the weaving, which had grown several inches under Laurel’s tutelage.
“I did the most,” Jenny said, dancing back and forth. “For our program next week, Mrs. Madison, can we all go out to Ms. Ashline’s place and see the spinning wheel and stuff?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Charity, who was now being pressured by all the girls except Sarah, turned to gaze helplessly at Laurel.
“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Laurel said, not wanting to make those arrangements in front of Louemma, which would surely add to her discomfort.
Charity pointed to a day planner peeking out of Laurel’s quilted handbag. “Isn’t that where you’d write down your appointments?”
Flushing, Laurel snatched up the book and flipped to the proper page. Unfortunately, the children had crowded around her, and they all saw that the page was blank.
“Yay!” Jenny flung her arms in the air and squealed at the top of her lungs. “She hasn’t got anything at three o’clock. We can go, we can go!”
Since there was nothing to do but block out the time, Laurel grabbed a pen and drew a big X through the hour from three to four. “Will you bring treats?” she asked Charity. “Or do I need to provide a snack for the children?”
“Mercy, I wouldn’t expect you to feed the girls. It’s kind enough of you to extend your program to include a session on spinning. Thank you so much. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen them this excited over a project. Well, some are,” she added, dolefully eyeing her daughter.
Laurel figured she’d have to suffer through Sarah’s cattiness and probably even Maggie’s indifference for one more day. She quickly dismissed the idea of seeing Louemma Ridge at the next gathering. Her father was already preparing to leave. As Laurel still wanted to tell him how insensitive she thought he was in subjecting his daughter to this demonstration without adequate preparation, she rushed to gather her things, and started after him.
“Thank you for giving me an opportunity to explain the art of weaving,” Laurel remembered to tell Charity as she moved toward the door. “Which reminds me, you’ll need my address.” Taking out a business card, she scribbled on the back.
Charity gave it a cursory glance. “I turn at Vining Mill Road?” She looked up. “Are you living at Hazel Bell’s old place? Goodness, you probably don’t even know who that is. I guess you’re renting from Alan.”
“Renting from—?” Laurel paused, pulling her eyes away from his broad back as he disappeared out the door. “Hazel willed me the property when she died.”
“Willed it to you? But I, uh, gosh…didn’t realize she and Ted had bought Bell Hill. Last week I thought Hardy Duff told Pete—Pete’s my husband… Oh, never mind. Pete only listens with half an ear to what’s being said.” Charity was called away from the door by her daughter, who demanded her immediate attention. With a shrug, Charity grinned at Laurel. “At times I envy you single women.”
“It does have its benefits,” Laurel agreed. “But I do have responsibilities. Two saddle horses and a dog. By the way, are any of the girls allergic to dogs? Mine is underfoot all the time.” She said it almost hopefully.
“I don’t think anyone in the group has allergies. Unless Louemma’s developed some since her accident. Maybe you’d better catch Alan and ask him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he won’t bring her all that way. The area around my cottage is still quite primitive. Visitors park west of the stream and cross on a footbridge to reach my place. The cabin where my spinning room and looms are located is quite a trek up a gravel path, if you can even call it a path.”
“Well, then you definitely should speak with Alan. I just assumed Louemma would participate in our regular meetings, starting today.”
Laurel flew out the door then and called to Alan, who’d already placed his daughter in the Jeep. He closed her wheelchair and set it in the back before answering Laurel’s summons. He waited beside the open driver’s door, jingling his keys, clearly indicating his desire to get underway.
But Laurel really didn’t want to talk to him where Louemma might overhear, so she stopped by the Madisons’ front gate.
“Are you stuck, or what?” Alan demanded, sounding annoyed at her intrusion into his planned escape.
It was plain to Laurel that the man didn’t intend to budge. Reluctantly she started toward him. “Mrs. Madison suggested I remind you of the undeveloped condition of the walkway leading up to my loom cottage.”
He ignored that. “So, you really weren’t home when I came out to your place?” he inquired instead. “Doesn’t matter. I fulfilled my grandmother’s request today. It was even worse than I expected. Of course Louemma won’t be at next week’s meeting.”
Laurel was at a loss to explain why her relief was mixed with a twinge of sorrow when she heard his curt words.
“Daddy,” Louemma called plaintively from inside the dusty blue vehicle. “I want to see the spinning wheel. Can’t I please go with the others?”
From the frown that instantly crossed his face, throwing the angles of his cheeks into sharp relief, Laurel fully expected him to deny the child. But as he half turned to peer at her through the door, the lines softened measurably. “You want to go, honey? Are you positive?”
“I want to see how to get yarn out of sheep’s wool. And I like Ms. Ashline.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” Alan practically barked at Laurel, blaming her with his eyes for the fact that Louemma thought she was nice.
She could have ended it then and there. But the eagerness on Louemma’s face wouldn’t let her. “I plan exactly that,” she mumbled at last. “I’ll demonstrate washing, carding and spinning yarn from sheep’s wool, and thread from raw cotton bolls.” The stab of guilt she felt over her testiness toward him also came with an unexpected reward in the slow smile that lit the girl’s dark eyes.
“Uh, so I’ll see you next week, Louemma,” Laurel said. “I’m glad Mrs. Madison has a van big enough to transport all of you girls.” She abruptly sidestepped the Ridge Jeep, waved to the
