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  “Hello, dear Cam,” she said breezily, putting down her packages to offer an embrace and a chilly cheek to kiss. “You’re looking well.”

  “I look like a rhinoceros stuffed into dancer’s tights, and you know it. Thank you for coming to see me, Hen. I’ve been feeling a trifle lonely, with Ben so busy at the store.”

  “And I suppose he prefers that you stay home and take care of yourself, yes? Poor Cam. Well, I’m here to feed and entertain you, so how about a nice cup of tea?”

  Camellia, ensconced on the settee with a small hassock under her feet, an afghan across her knees, and the parlor fire adding cheer and heat, smiled. “I do believe your veins are filled with British blood, Hen. Tea is your panacea for anything that’s wrong.”

  “Oh, Camellia.” Hannah was already setting a kettle of water onto the kitchen stove’s front burner. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning. Other than I’ve been tired and grouchy as an old bear, and poor Ben has had to take the brunt of my bad moods. Come, sit down, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  Sweeping her dark purple skirt slightly to one side, Hannah took the well-used chair opposite. “Well, now, let me see. You knew the doctor had done a flit.”

  The smile broadened into a wicked grin. “Don’t be snide. Yes, I knew he’d gone back home to visit. He wanted to make sure I was aware he was leaving for a few weeks, and that I should be in good hands with Letty. Although, quite frankly, Hen,” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I’m not sure which is worse—having all my embarrassing loss of dignity examined by a male physician, or by my sister.”

  “Probably neither,” decided Hannah, after a moment’s consideration. “Of course, if you must get yourself into that situation... Uh—have you heard if he arrived safely?”

  “No, I haven’t, but Letty received a telegram. She stopped in a few days ago, and told me about it. It was a lengthy trip, he said, and a tiring one, but over the years he’s gotten used to it. And how are the cats faring?”

  Hannah felt a little sting of exasperation. “For someone shut up away from the world, you certainly seem to know everything that’s going on around here. I can’t think why I even bothered to make a visit.”

  Camellia reached across the small intervening space with a calming hand. “You came because dear old Ben put out the word that I was languishing away, and you understood that I would appreciate the company.”

  “That part is certainly true. Still—”

  “Well, Letty has been here, and Grace Ellen, and now you. I expect Molly will be along soon, and probably that nice Martin Beecham. And then I’ll be exhausted from too much company, not a lack thereof, and Ben will have to ease up on his restrictions. So.” Laughing, she paused for breath. “The cats?”

  “Oh, those furry little things.” For several minutes Hannah waxed eloquent on the subject of her temporary charges: their colors, their cuteness, their adaptability. Then, when words ran out, she sat in silence until the kettle, heated to boiling, suddenly began to whistle.

  Twisting slightly to watch as her sister worked with the Earl Grey she had brought, a teapot, and the porcelain diffuser, Camellia finally asked, “Hen, is something bothering you?”

  “Nooo...not really. It’s just—”

  Her sister was already burdened with difficulties of her own: a six months’ pregnancy, with all its attendant physical and emotional woes, what changes the coming baby would mean for her and Ben as a couple, what adjustments would have to be made to the household and its routine. Surely with so much going on in her life, she would have neither time nor energy to listen to the misadventures of a spinster sister!

  “Is everything ready? Then stop fussing with it, Hen, and talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  Like a considerate hostess, Hannah finished preparing a tray with everything needed, including the bakery cookies, before she returned to the parlor.

  “Such a luxury,” Camellia approved, sipping at her strong hot tea with pleasure. “Ben does his best to take care of me, and I know he doesn’t mind. But a few minor items occasionally fall through the cracks—those things that only another woman would understand. Thank you, dear. Now.”

  Opening up with a confidence comes so much more easily over the familiar ritual of taking afternoon tea. After a few minutes spent pouring, sugaring, stirring, and so on, Hannah brought up the subject closest to her heart these days. She spoke of periodic stabs of feeling alone, and lonely; of feeling she would be left behind when most of the world’s beings seem to come in pairs; of worrying about finances, and growing old, and living only in the company of cats. Last of all, she mentioned the letter she’d written, and its unsatisfactory reply, and her own follow-up.

  Camellia listened silently, without comment or censure, without indication by expression or sound what her reaction might be. If she had learned anything at all from living, first with three sisters, and now with an intermittently irascible husband, it was that the greatest gift one person can give to another is that quality of mindful, uncritical attention.

  When Hannah was finally finished, and could sit back with her cup of tea as if completely drained of all emotion, Camellia asked a few questions and offered, not unsolicited advice, but encouragement and reinforcement.

  “No, I haven’t heard a word from him since that very first letter, ten days ago. And here it is, close to the end of January. It’s—discouraging, to say the least...” Hannah tried for a laugh but failed.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. At least Ben was very timely, while we were writing back and forth. Then this Mr. Ualraig has never mentioned where he lives? Perhaps his home town is too far away for regular correspondence. Or perhaps he’s gotten involved in something beyond his control, business-wise; or perhaps he’s ill.”

  “Good old Cam,” said Hannah fondly. “You’re always trying to see the bright side of any situation, aren’t you? You know I love that about you, right?”

  Nibbling at one of the iced sugar cookies, she closed her eyes for a minute in pure bliss. “Well, Hen, what else can you do, when you have no facts to fall back on? Once you start a venture like this, you have to take a lot on faith. Believe me, I know.”

  “Oh, all three of you do; you’ve walked these steps long before I tried them.” Words laced with a mixture of chagrin and rue. “All right, enough about me. Anything new with all the family?”

  “Well, let me see.” Camellia set aside her cup, pulled a shawl more closely around her shoulders, and considered. “Paul and his deputies are still pursuing the matter of those stagecoach robberies. You may have noticed he’s been out of town fairly frequently, investigating, but, according to Molly, so far he hasn’t come up with any leads.”

  “That has to be frustrating. I suppose he’s telegraphed neighboring towns for information?”

  “Indeed, yes. Without much success, I’m afraid. The crimes seem to be centered in this area. As for Molly, I think she’s really happy now. But I think she wants to do more.”

  “Molly always was the flightiest of all us Burtons,” said Hannah without a single degree of censure, just mere acknowledgement of fact. “It’s hard for her to settle down into anything. She doesn’t have enough to do?”

  A downward draft from the sudden rise of wind around the roof sent fireplace flames wildly scrambling for survival, and a few sparks scattered upon the hearth rug. Hastily Hannah rose, before Camellia could put aside all her paraphernalia, and set things to rights.

  “I think that’s probably the case,” came the thoughtful agreement. “She’s all finished with the redoing of that doll’s house of theirs, now that the music room is ready and the piano has been moved, and she’s itching to try her hand at something else.”

  Hannah, resuming her seat, poured another cup of the bracing Earl Grey. “I’m sure she’ll find a new project. Let’s hope it happens before she drives Paul into spasms. He’s probably relieved that this chain of attacks on the stagecoach line has given him an excus
e to be out of town.”

  Comfortably the sisters chuckled together over Molly’s foibles, still charming for all who knew her. She was what she was, formed in part by her horrific childhood experiences, and nothing and no one was going to change her personality.

  “I do believe she’s been visiting Abigail now and then, at the Table. They probably have a lot of common, appreciating all that pirate’s ship of wonderful treasure she’s collected.”

  “And Letty?”

  “Letty. My goodness, that girl is amazing. Do you know she actually took care of a patient the other day?”

  “All by herself.” A widening of the blue eyes.

  “Oh, yes. She admitted that she had to consult Gabe’s notes, and she was very nervous about what she was doing. But apparently it was a successful procedure.”

  “Procedure?” Curious, yet unsure just how many medical details she might want to hear, Hannah tilted her head. “What did she have to do?”

  Camellia gave a little shiver. “Something I couldn’t imagine anyone doing, let alone Letitia. Two young brothers were tussling with each other at the barber shop, while their father was getting spruced up, and fell right through the window.”

  “My heavens!”

  “Exactly. The younger boy wasn’t really hurt, other than a few bumps and bruises, but the older boy, who actually fell first, had to have shards of broken glass removed from various parts of his body.”

  Just imagining the consequences, and how to deal with them, had Hannah mimicking the shiver. “No wonder Letty was nervous.”

  “And who could blame her? But she got everything taken care of, stopped the bleeding, disinfected until, she claimed, the room positively reeked of carbolic acid, and then bandaged where necessary.”

  “The father must have been greatly relieved. And I’m sure Gabe will be feeling quite proud of her, once he returns.”

  “No doubt. Oh, Hannah, must you leave already?” For her sister had risen, gathering their tea things together for a trip to the kitchen. “It seems you only just arrived.”

  Hannah chuckled. “Cam, I’ve been here a solid two hours. And I’ve loved visiting, but it’s getting on toward dark, and I really should stop in at the Gazette to see what Mr. Crane might have for me.” She sighed dramatically. “Oh, it’s a hard life, being a newspaperwoman at the beck and call of her demanding editor.”

  “Hen.” Camellia unearthed herself from various coverings and pillows to reach out for an embrace. “You sounded exactly like Gabe just then.”

  “Did I?” She was startled. “Unintentional, I assure you. Some of his doggerel must have rubbed off onto me, without my knowing it. All right, sister dear, I’ll leave our cups for Ben to wash. That’ll larn him to leave you alone for so long.”

  “Thanks for coming by, hon. Oh, and Hannah? Please let me keep one more cookie.”

  “You can have the entire box of cookies.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Twelve

  1871 JANUARY 28

  My dear Miss Burton,

  Please accept my humble apologies for this lengthy delay in answering your

  lovely letter. Circumstances beyond my control have prevented me from

  attending to personal elements right now, and I certainly hope this has caused

  you no distress of mind.

  You rightfully have questions that ought to be and must be answered. One is

  possibly about my appearance. Let me reassure you that, should I happen to

  be taking my leisure upon a city sidewalk, neither children nor adults will ever

  run screaming from my presence. Perhaps that fact will put your mind at rest

  as to the physical side of my character.

  Also, while I can understand and appreciate your affinity for your current

  residence, I, too, am quite happy with my own. This is a subject we shall

  certainly have to discuss, along with your curiosity as to my particular

  personality traits.

  Given all this, I do believe it is time we meet in the flesh, so that all these

  matters may be taken into account.

  I shall plan to visit your town of Turnabout two weeks hence. Since arrival

  dates can be uncertain, due to the unpredictability of travel, I hope to be

  able to see you, and introduce myself, approximately the middle of February.

  Do I dare to presume that such an arrangement will meet with your approval?

  Faithfully yours,

  Ualraig

  Her first thought, upon reading and dissecting this surprising missive, was, “He finally replied!

  Thank goodness, I finally received a reply! I haven’t been left along the wayside by some uncaring, inconsiderate brute!”

  Her second, with a snort of disdain, was, “Huh. It certainly took him long enough.”

  Which reaction perfectly described her feelings about this whole mad adventure.

  Her third was, “I wonder if he sounds like such a pontifical dandy in real life as he does in his letters?”

  All three of her sisters, not wanting to pour salt into an unhealed wound, had wisely decided to refrain from asking for any updates on Hannah’s love life. No questions, no comments, no pointed criticisms of the errant suitor.

  So, she resolved, she would just keep this little tidbit to herself for a while.

  The tidbit lay growing, like a kernel of corn exposed to the elements, somewhere deep inside. It was surrounded by uncertainty. How would they meet? What would he be like? Would he approve of her appearance, her personality, her snappish temper? Was her mood of qualm and misgivings similar to what her sisters had experienced, before her? Would he be as handsome as her doctor? Would they have very much in common? She wanted a man who would share her dreams and they could talk for hours, a man that could make her smile. She had paid little attention then, as to whether each had sailed through or passed sleepless hours worrying and fretting. Now she could understand the situation, and all the complex emotions involved, much more easily.

  It was true, that old saying: Walk a mile in my shoes...

  In the doldrums of winter, with spring a distant too many weeks into the future, Letitia organized a ladies’ book club. Those who were able might purchase the monthly selection at the Table, where the meetings would be held on each first Saturday; those who were not could borrow from the Turnabout Library. Grace Ellen Tucker had already eagerly signed up and promised to bring in a few more members, as did Abigail, always happy to generate new business, herself.

  Molly, too, had acquired a new interest in life. Now that the remodeling work at Fourteen Cedar Lane had been completed to her satisfaction, she was planning a housewarming, with the date set probably for mid-March. Warned that a conflict in schedule might arise, since Camellia was expected to give birth anytime during the six weeks after that, Molly had pooh-poohed the very idea. No one would dare interfere with her schedule, not even the greatly anticipated niece or nephew.

  They would just work it out.

  Of course her proposal was fine with Paul; just about anything she did or wanted to do was fine with Paul. Hosting a roomful of guests stood quite low on his list of things to take care of, right now, anyway. He was more interested in catching the stagecoach bandit to be hauled in for trial.

  So far, according to the victims, nothing serious had occurred during these robberies, other than loud threats, a waving about of weapons, and the theft of passengers’ cash and jewelry. But Paul wanted to get this stopped before someone got hurt.

  There was no why nor wherefore as to the timing—it might be the Monday run or the Thursday run; it might be ten miles out of town or on the way to Manifest. Even with two deputies, other duties pressed the law office, and one could not be watching all entrances and exits every day of the week. Without more information, Paul feared apprehending the criminal would be a stroke of pure luck.

  Wit
h each passing week, Camellia grew less agile, more ungainly, as the baby’s increasing weight filled her front and swayed her back. She was still able to joke about various physical aspects of her pregnancy, but the sounds of her huffing and puffing up the stairs and an infrequent little moan of something not working right were beginning to deeply worry her husband.

  In private, he cursed Gabriel’s mother for deciding to call the doctor away at such a crucial time, and then he cursed Gabriel, as well, for deciding to go. He consulted with Letitia on matters of anxiety, and Letitia, the novice medico, could only page through the medical journals and offer what little knowledge and reassurance she had.

  Despite her occasional foul moods and unsurprising irritability, Camellia never spoke one word of blame; she had wanted this child as much as her husband did, and was willing to endure whatever unpleasantness—and downright affliction—necessary. Still, Ben couldn’t help feeling guilty. So, like many first-time fathers, he did what he could to ease the burden on his wife.

  Concerned by Ben’s concern, her lack of experience, and her sister’s somewhat unhealthy appearance, Letitia took the responsibility of firing off a telegram to Gabe at his mother’s house in Atlanta. Two days later, she received a reply: Cam’s health sounds normal. Be patient. Packing up soon to return.

  Meanwhile, Hannah went about her normal routine. Bundled up against intermittently foul weather, she strode the six blocks or so from her boarding house to the newspaper office, worked her scheduled hours (more or less), and returned to a room of cats and comforting purrs.

  Most of the time Hannah walked around with a strange trembly feeling in her middle, and the air along any exposed skin blew now hot, now cold. It seemed that she had started up and set loose a powerful locomotive on the tracks, and it was now barreling down toward her like a runaway carriage. She was unsure if she ought to board the train or step completely out of the line of fire.