not good to mope like this.”
“I’m sewing, not moping.”
“You can’t fool me, Adelaide Crum. You’re hiding out here. The ‘Snip and Sew’ quilters haven’t met in months. Why, the church auction will come and go before we finish that quilt.” A spark flared in Sally’s eyes. “Is it man trouble?”
“No, just work.”
“Then start having some. Ask Horace Smith to the church picnic. Give me something to think about besides this unseasonable heat.”
Old enough to be her father, the town’s mortician looked barely more alive than his clientele. “If you’re relying on me for excitement, you’ll expire from a bad case of monotony.” She chuckled. “No doubt Horace would thank me for the business.”
Sally poked her arm. “Now you sound more like yourself.”
Putting aside her sewing, Adelaide rose. “I’ll set up the frame. We can start a week from Monday at ten o’clock.”
“Good. On the way home, I’ll stop and tell the others.” She drew Adelaide into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Sally spun out like a whirlwind. Adelaide whispered thanks for a caring friend.
Adelaide kept busy, but the morning dragged. Unable to concentrate, she had to rip out rows of stitches in Mrs. Willowby’s bolero jacket and jabbed herself twice with the needle. She laid the garment aside, then stuck the pricked finger in her mouth as she ambled over to the window.
The street was exceptionally busy, even for a Saturday. No doubt twenty-eight of these conveyances held those fortunate couples who’d been given a child.
What if an unexpected child had ridden the train? Maybe I’m supposed to be at the distribution, taking an opportunity God provided.
Adelaide whipped off her apron and raced upstairs for her hat and gloves.
Charles walked the few blocks to The Ledger, his stride brisk. Under his hat perspiration already beaded his forehead. He neared Whitehall’s Café and the aroma of strong coffee wafted through an open window, tempting him. Up ahead, a group of people huddled, heads bent, talking, unusual for an early Saturday morning. Coffee could wait.
As Charles neared the paper, his reporter came running from the opposite direction, his lanky legs skidding to a halt in front of him. “Mr. Graves, Sarah Hartman hung herself from a rafter in her barn!”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“Nothing except she’s an old lady who lived on a farm outside of town. Must’ve gone daft. Her daughter found her this morning.”
“Too bad,” Charles said without a trace of feeling. Long ago, journalism had taught him to distance himself from tragedy, to look at events as part of the job, not troubles affecting people’s lives. Otherwise, every death would have him bawling like a baby. Though, upon occasion, the sum of all those tragedies circled over his head like buzzards converging on the kill, disturbing his sleep.
“Did the sheriff say it looked like suicide, or the town gossips?”
James thrust out his chin, annoyance etching his brow. “The sheriff did. He found a crate kicked over beneath the body.”
Charles nodded his approval. “Good work. Get the sheriff’s statement. Interview the daughter. While you’re at it, ask about funeral arrangements for the obit.”
“Mrs. Hartman had one child.” James checked his tablet, clearly proud of his reporting skills. “Frances Drummond.”
Drummond? Charles had no idea why, but hearing that name left him feeling uneasy.
A crowd gathered as Adelaide slipped into the schoolhouse. Across the front of the room, the orphans sat in two rows of chairs, their young faces etched with uncertainty and a glimmer of hope. Adelaide counted nineteen boys and nine girls. Twenty-eight, the exact number the committee had expected. Her heart plummeted. Still, she couldn’t drag herself away.
She studied each child in turn. Some appeared to be in their early teens, others quite young; their small feet dangled above the floor. Though rumpled from travel, all wore proper clothing, with hair combed and faces scrubbed.
They were beautiful, every single one of them.
Across the room she caught the eye of Mr. Graves. His quick smile made her feel less alone in this room of instant families.
Adelaide’s gaze returned to a young girl of six or seven. Fair and blond, she leveled aquamarine eyes on the crowd. A brave little thing or maybe merely good at hiding her fear.
“Miss Abigail, what on Earth are you doing here?”
With huge proportions and a voice to match, Viola Willowby loomed over her. That a steady customer persisted in calling her Abigail, even though Adelaide’s Hats and Sundries hung in bold letters over her shop, set Adelaide’s teeth on edge.
She lifted her gaze, forcing up the corners of her mouth into something she hoped resembled a smile. Atop Mrs. Willowby’s head perched one of Adelaide’s finest creations—a floppy straw hat bedecked with pink cabbage roses.
“Hello, Mrs. Willowby.”
“I saw you leave the orphan interviews. Why were you there?”
“For the same reason as you.”
Mrs. Willowby gasped. “You can’t be serious! It…it wouldn’t be proper.” Mrs. Willowby pulled a lace-edged hanky from its hiding place in the depths of her ample bosom and touched the linen to her nose, as if she feared catching some dire malady that would render her as irrational as she obviously thought Adelaide to be.
Adelaide looked her square in the eye. “And why not?”
“You’re a spin—” Mrs. Willowby’s face flushed, unable to get the heinous word past her lips. “A maiden lady.”
Adelaide wanted to rip the stunning hat off her customer’s head and swat her across the face with it. But then she sighed, ashamed of herself. A Christian shouldn’t think that way. Besides, Mrs. Willowby represented the thinking of the committee, probably of their church, even the entire town. “You needn’t worry. They denied my request.”
“Well, I should think so!”
Judge Willowby, an equally large man, tapped his wife on the shoulder. “I’m sure Miss Crum is quite capable of rearing a youngster, Mrs. Willowby.” While his wife sputtered like an overflowing teakettle, he motioned to two chairs. “It’s time to start.” He turned to Adelaide. “Nice to see you, Miss Crum.”
Adelaide smiled at the judge. Clearly he found some good in his uncharitable wife.
Adelaide could understand why the Willowbys had been given a child. Years before, they’d lost their two children to diphtheria. Well-heeled, after finding natural gas on their property, they wielded a lot of influence in town.
While
