The Moon by Night by Gilbert Morris, Lynn Morris Page A

Irons advanced my wages so that I might have these items which, I am obliged to admit, I so desperately need? That I actually tried to rob—I mean, after the other difficult night—”
    â€œThat’s Mr. Shiloh for you,” Sketes said. “And I wouldn’t wonder if you didn’t see it come out of your wages for a long time to come. Anyhow, you look to me like you’re doing very well, so after I finish this nice cup of tea, I’ll be going on. You’ll just have to let me know some sizes and your likes and dislikes, Mr. Jauncy.”
    â€œBut,” he said again, his wide brow wrinkling, “you mean you’re going to leave me? Alone? In the house?”
    â€œMm-hmm,” she answered, pouring his tea. “Why? Are you afraid of being alone?” Her blue eyes twinkled.
    Seeing her expression, he offered her the muffin tray with an elaborate flourish. “Not at all, Sketes. It’s just that I shall be désolé, trés désolé, sans votre compagnie.”
    â€œFancy that,” she said admiringly. “Such a well-spoken gent in Latin too.”

Part II
The Work of Our Hands
    And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us:
    and establish thou the work of our hands….
    Psalm 90:17

Six
In the Light of the Full Moon
    In a wild flurry Cheney rode Eugènie Le Fain into the barn of Roe’s Livery and Stables. Jumping down without waiting for help, she cried, “James! John! Hurry, unsaddle her and get her out in the paddock!”
    The two young Roe brothers jumped up and ran as if they’d been hit by lightning. “What is it, Dr. Cheney? Is Herself shot or something?” None of the Roes could pronounce Eugènie—when trying, they said something very close to Jenny, and Eugènie Le Fain was most definitely nothing like a female donkey—so they just called the fiery little thoroughbred “Herself.” At this moment she was prancing, snorting, rearing, her eyes rolling with tremendous excitement.
    Cheney, who was also breathing hard, gasped, “No, no, she’s fine. Just hurry before Shiloh gets here on his stuffy old donkey! Hurry!” Smoothing her skirt, she ran to the door of the stables and assumed a careless pose, leaning against one side of the opened double doors, her arms crossed, one booted foot cockily crossed over the other.
    Mr. Thaddeus Roe, the patriarch of Roe’s Livery and Stables, and Mr. Jack Gaines, the Duvalls’ longtime retainer, who everyone called Mr. Jack, were sitting at the far end of the stables close to an ancient potbellied stove. Their conversation had been interrupted when Cheney and Eugènie had made their entrance, and both men had half risen when they thought that something terrible was amiss. But now the two old gentlemen exchanged meaningful glances, settled back down in their comfortable cane-bottomed chairs, and picked up their coffee mugs from the floor. An old blue-spattered coffeepot was on the stove, and the delicious heavy smell of strong coffee wafted from it.
    â€œYep,” Mr. Jack said with a long-suffering sigh, “Miss Dr. Cheney Duvall Irons-Winslow has done made her reg’lar entrance.”
    â€œYep,” Mr. Roe agreed. The two had been friends ever since Cheney and Dev had opened their offices just around the corner from Roe’s. “I must say, Mr. Jack, that for a young lady who rides like she’s not got her fair share of common sense, she does have good horse sense. That is one fine filly, is Herself.”
    Thaddeus’s grandsons, catching Cheney’s intent and grinning like two mischievous monkeys, hurried frantically to get Eugènie unsaddled and out the door to the riding paddock. Mr. Roe and Mr. Jack watched, nodding like two solemn old owls. “That she is,” Mr. Jack finally agreed, “for a furrin horse. Miss Victoria, Mr. Devlin’s lady, bought her for Miss Cheney’s birthday present off in