other.
Emmy froze midbite and stared down at the greasy poultry until her eyes crossed. Gracious! If I keep this up, I’ll be prime pork and ready for the slaughter. She extended her leg and stared, examining it from every angle before she smiled. Then my thighs won’t be quite so fetching, now, will they?
Deliberately, and with great satisfaction, she flicked her wrist, tossing the half-eaten chicken leg through the open window. “There you go, Mama. Another pretty rose for your garden.”
Emmy wiped her fingers on the lace napkin in her lap then gaped at the dark oily spots left behind. She had smuggled the fried chicken to her room wrapped in one of Mama’s best linens. Holding the square of delicate cloth aloft, she surveyed the mess. “Oh bother! They’ll hear her clear to Montgomery County if she gets wind of this.”
She rolled onto her stomach and slid to the edge of the bed, peering into the dark recess between the floor and her lumpy mattress. Fighting to keep her balance, she leaned further in and worked at a tear by the nearest slat until she had removed a handful of fluff. Then she tucked the soiled cloth deep inside the hole. After stuffing the cotton in after it, she pushed upright and lay back with a satisfied smile.
There. Now she won’t need to fret.
A thought flitted past, changing her smile to a frown. It was Mama’s own fault, after all, for opening the door to Charity and Aunt Bert. She left Emmy no choice but to rummage like a thief in her own kitchen, so she’d have to live with the occasional missing napkin, now, wouldn’t she?
She flopped on her side and stared at the floral wallpaper. During her confinement, she had memorized the line of every petal and every shade of pink. She knew how many blooms adorned each wall, as well as the numbers facing left and right. She had stared at the big ugly roses for days now, and they’d stared right back, silent witnesses to her frustration.
In truth, her history with the flowers started more than mere days ago. The horrid walls had been her constant companions for the past eight years, since Papa hired her room remodeled the summer she turned twelve. No one had touched it since. For Emmy, the youthful decor had long since lost its charm.
No matter. Soon she’d be mistress of her own big house, filled with brand-new rooms to look at, to decorate however she saw fit. Daniel had built it for Charity, but Charity would never live there. Emmy would marry Daniel, and the pretty, brick-fronted structure with its wide columns and a porch that wrapped all the way around would be hers. And there wouldn’t be a pink rose in sight.
Hugging her pillow, she rolled to the other side of the bed where her vanity table beckoned. She knew she should dress and freshen up, but why go to all the trouble? Why wash her face, pin up her hair, get all gussied up for these four walls?
Hooves pounded up the drive. She leaped from the bed and rushed to her second-floor window, arriving just as the horse and rider passed from sight, hidden by the tangled branches of the oak outside her window. She peered out, using the lace curtain for cover, and caught a quick glimpse of muddy boots as the caller moved under the portico.
Next came the strident, angry voice of Auntie Bert. “You got a lot of nerve coming around here, Daniel Clark.”
Emmy gasped. Daniel? What in the world...?
“There ain’t no need for that shotgun, ma’am.”
Shotgun! Emmy’s heart pounded so hard she feared they’d hear it downstairs.
Daniel’s familiar voice rumbled, but she couldn’t make out his words. Desperate to see, she leaned over as far as possible, but the front porch roof hid all but their feet.
Aunt Bert’s voice became shrill. “Did you say wolf?”
“Mad with rabies, Mrs. Bloom. I shot it dead.”
“Is my girl all right?”
“She’s safe enough—from any four-legged threat, at least.”
“What do you mean by that?” This from Emmy’s mama.
“Mrs. Dane,
Emmy froze midbite and stared down at the greasy poultry until her eyes crossed. Gracious! If I keep this up, I’ll be prime pork and ready for the slaughter. She extended her leg and stared, examining it from every angle before she smiled. Then my thighs won’t be quite so fetching, now, will they?
Deliberately, and with great satisfaction, she flicked her wrist, tossing the half-eaten chicken leg through the open window. “There you go, Mama. Another pretty rose for your garden.”
Emmy wiped her fingers on the lace napkin in her lap then gaped at the dark oily spots left behind. She had smuggled the fried chicken to her room wrapped in one of Mama’s best linens. Holding the square of delicate cloth aloft, she surveyed the mess. “Oh bother! They’ll hear her clear to Montgomery County if she gets wind of this.”
She rolled onto her stomach and slid to the edge of the bed, peering into the dark recess between the floor and her lumpy mattress. Fighting to keep her balance, she leaned further in and worked at a tear by the nearest slat until she had removed a handful of fluff. Then she tucked the soiled cloth deep inside the hole. After stuffing the cotton in after it, she pushed upright and lay back with a satisfied smile.
There. Now she won’t need to fret.
A thought flitted past, changing her smile to a frown. It was Mama’s own fault, after all, for opening the door to Charity and Aunt Bert. She left Emmy no choice but to rummage like a thief in her own kitchen, so she’d have to live with the occasional missing napkin, now, wouldn’t she?
She flopped on her side and stared at the floral wallpaper. During her confinement, she had memorized the line of every petal and every shade of pink. She knew how many blooms adorned each wall, as well as the numbers facing left and right. She had stared at the big ugly roses for days now, and they’d stared right back, silent witnesses to her frustration.
In truth, her history with the flowers started more than mere days ago. The horrid walls had been her constant companions for the past eight years, since Papa hired her room remodeled the summer she turned twelve. No one had touched it since. For Emmy, the youthful decor had long since lost its charm.
No matter. Soon she’d be mistress of her own big house, filled with brand-new rooms to look at, to decorate however she saw fit. Daniel had built it for Charity, but Charity would never live there. Emmy would marry Daniel, and the pretty, brick-fronted structure with its wide columns and a porch that wrapped all the way around would be hers. And there wouldn’t be a pink rose in sight.
Hugging her pillow, she rolled to the other side of the bed where her vanity table beckoned. She knew she should dress and freshen up, but why go to all the trouble? Why wash her face, pin up her hair, get all gussied up for these four walls?
Hooves pounded up the drive. She leaped from the bed and rushed to her second-floor window, arriving just as the horse and rider passed from sight, hidden by the tangled branches of the oak outside her window. She peered out, using the lace curtain for cover, and caught a quick glimpse of muddy boots as the caller moved under the portico.
Next came the strident, angry voice of Auntie Bert. “You got a lot of nerve coming around here, Daniel Clark.”
Emmy gasped. Daniel? What in the world...?
“There ain’t no need for that shotgun, ma’am.”
Shotgun! Emmy’s heart pounded so hard she feared they’d hear it downstairs.
Daniel’s familiar voice rumbled, but she couldn’t make out his words. Desperate to see, she leaned over as far as possible, but the front porch roof hid all but their feet.
Aunt Bert’s voice became shrill. “Did you say wolf?”
“Mad with rabies, Mrs. Bloom. I shot it dead.”
“Is my girl all right?”
“She’s safe enough—from any four-legged threat, at least.”
“What do you mean by that?” This from Emmy’s mama.
“Mrs. Dane,
Similar Books
