such compassion, Mrs. Kingston had learned to give it. With the knowledge that her life did indeed matter came a commitment to fill her days with useful activity—which she fulfilled by turning the Larkspur ’s practically nonexistent flower garden into a showplace.
Yes, I shall definitely plant sunflowers , she thought, turning her head for one last look over her shoulder. When she did, she caught a glimpse of motion.
Mrs. Kingston frowned. The same thing had happened Monday while she was walking back up Market Lane at the end of her southwestern route. But why would someone be following you? she asked herself. Ridiculous! Still, the uncanny feeling of being watched would not leave her, and she turned around to stare at the lane she had just walked. A wide elm spread its branches in front of the Clarks’ cottage, more than wide enough to provide a hiding place. Mrs. Kingston looked in all directions to make sure there were no witnesses to the absurd display she was about to make.
“You there!” she called forcefully, pretending an assurance she didn’t quite possess, for she wasn’t totally sure that her imagination wasn’t playing tricks upon her. There was no answer, nor did she see anything amiss.
“I say, you there!” she bluffed again. She shook the head of her walking stick. “I saw you duck behind that tree! You may as well show yourself!”
There was nothing except a curious raise of the head from a nutmeg-colored cat napping upon the Clarks’ porch.
“Surely you’re not afraid of an old woman!” she called, though not so loudly this time, for the foolishness of her actions was becoming clearer every second. When no lurker gave himself up and came forward for a scolding, Mrs. Kingston slowly turned back around and resumed her walk. She was almost positive she’d seen someone. But she couldn’t very well go searching behind trees without appearing even more foolish, if only to the Clarks’ cat. She reached the end of Walnut Tree Lane and turned east onto Church Lane to make her way back to the Larkspur . The Worthy sisters were, as usual, sitting under a patch of sunlight in their garden.
“Mrs. Kingston!” Iris called in a voice as soothing as a warm cup of tea. Her gnarled fingers never stopped winding threads around the pins sticking from the lace-making pillow in her lap. “I was just telling Jewel that you should be by soon.”
Jewel nodded her white head as Mrs. Kingston advanced. Her fingers also seemed to move independently of their owner’s thoughts. It occurred to Mrs. Kingston that the sisters could probably spin laces in their sleep if they could find a way to sleep sitting up in their chairs.
“And I told Iris that a body could set his clock by Mrs. Kingston’s walks,” Jewel said in a tone as raspy as Iris’s was soothing. She turned to her sister-in-law for confirmation. “Didn’t I, Iris?”
“You certainly did,” Iris agreed.
Mrs. Kingston smiled. “What are you making now?”
“A tablecloth,” Jewel replied and tilted her pillow so that Mrs. Kingston could admire the pattern. “We’ll block the strips together when all the lace is finished. Someone in Whitchurch ordered it for a wedding gift.”
“Lovely,” Mrs. Kingston declared, eliciting smiles from both wrinkled faces.
“We thought we heard ye callin’ out to someone just a little while ago,” Jewel said in a questioning tone.
Mrs. Kingston sighed. So there had been witnesses to her lunacy after all. She should have known better, for there was little that escaped the notice of the Worthy sisters, situated as they were at the crossroads of the village. With great reluctance, she admitted, “I thought someone was following me.”
The sisters exchanged understanding looks. “Have you considered spectacles?” asked Iris. “ ’Tis no shame to wear them, you know.”
“I don’t need spectacles,” Mrs. Kingston declared crisply and was immediately sorry, for she could see the injury across
Yes, I shall definitely plant sunflowers , she thought, turning her head for one last look over her shoulder. When she did, she caught a glimpse of motion.
Mrs. Kingston frowned. The same thing had happened Monday while she was walking back up Market Lane at the end of her southwestern route. But why would someone be following you? she asked herself. Ridiculous! Still, the uncanny feeling of being watched would not leave her, and she turned around to stare at the lane she had just walked. A wide elm spread its branches in front of the Clarks’ cottage, more than wide enough to provide a hiding place. Mrs. Kingston looked in all directions to make sure there were no witnesses to the absurd display she was about to make.
“You there!” she called forcefully, pretending an assurance she didn’t quite possess, for she wasn’t totally sure that her imagination wasn’t playing tricks upon her. There was no answer, nor did she see anything amiss.
“I say, you there!” she bluffed again. She shook the head of her walking stick. “I saw you duck behind that tree! You may as well show yourself!”
There was nothing except a curious raise of the head from a nutmeg-colored cat napping upon the Clarks’ porch.
“Surely you’re not afraid of an old woman!” she called, though not so loudly this time, for the foolishness of her actions was becoming clearer every second. When no lurker gave himself up and came forward for a scolding, Mrs. Kingston slowly turned back around and resumed her walk. She was almost positive she’d seen someone. But she couldn’t very well go searching behind trees without appearing even more foolish, if only to the Clarks’ cat. She reached the end of Walnut Tree Lane and turned east onto Church Lane to make her way back to the Larkspur . The Worthy sisters were, as usual, sitting under a patch of sunlight in their garden.
“Mrs. Kingston!” Iris called in a voice as soothing as a warm cup of tea. Her gnarled fingers never stopped winding threads around the pins sticking from the lace-making pillow in her lap. “I was just telling Jewel that you should be by soon.”
Jewel nodded her white head as Mrs. Kingston advanced. Her fingers also seemed to move independently of their owner’s thoughts. It occurred to Mrs. Kingston that the sisters could probably spin laces in their sleep if they could find a way to sleep sitting up in their chairs.
“And I told Iris that a body could set his clock by Mrs. Kingston’s walks,” Jewel said in a tone as raspy as Iris’s was soothing. She turned to her sister-in-law for confirmation. “Didn’t I, Iris?”
“You certainly did,” Iris agreed.
Mrs. Kingston smiled. “What are you making now?”
“A tablecloth,” Jewel replied and tilted her pillow so that Mrs. Kingston could admire the pattern. “We’ll block the strips together when all the lace is finished. Someone in Whitchurch ordered it for a wedding gift.”
“Lovely,” Mrs. Kingston declared, eliciting smiles from both wrinkled faces.
“We thought we heard ye callin’ out to someone just a little while ago,” Jewel said in a questioning tone.
Mrs. Kingston sighed. So there had been witnesses to her lunacy after all. She should have known better, for there was little that escaped the notice of the Worthy sisters, situated as they were at the crossroads of the village. With great reluctance, she admitted, “I thought someone was following me.”
The sisters exchanged understanding looks. “Have you considered spectacles?” asked Iris. “ ’Tis no shame to wear them, you know.”
“I don’t need spectacles,” Mrs. Kingston declared crisply and was immediately sorry, for she could see the injury across
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