Gently, Sally Ann closed the door, and turned to exchange a look with Fin. Lucy sensed she’d said something wrong, though she wasn’t sure what. Cautiously, Sally Ann said, “If you’re kin to Miss Cora, don’t that make you kin to Valley View Lumber?”
“I, um, well . . .” Lucy stumbled on what to say next. She’d never felt anything but pride to be connected to her father and his business.
“Yeah,” Fin said, “but try not to hold that against her.”
The door swung open. Sally Ann looked over Lucy’s shoulder and smiled broadly. “Angie!” she said, as Fin let out a loud groan. “You snuck up on us as quiet as a bobcat.”
Angie Cooper stood at the open door with narrowed eyes fixed on Lucy. “I can read that letter t’ my friend. And I’ll write one in return for her and post it m’self.”
“Good,” Fin said in a cross voice. “We’ll be off, then.”
Lucy felt pinpricks of disappointment. She would have liked more time at Sally Ann’s. Despite how radically different their lives were, she sensed they could be friends. She hadn’t had many true friends in her life. Most girls considered Lucy far too serious, too quiet, too dull. She didn’t add much to their circle and was included in gatherings only out of necessity, only because of her father’s social status.
“Finley James,” Angie said in a sweet voice, very different than the one she used for Lucy. “You be goin’ to the singing school on Sunday next? I’ll be makin’ my fried chicken.”
He was on his way out the door and barely responded. “Too busy.”
Angie’s appearance brought back Fin’s earlier prickliness. He seemed in a hurry to go and had already gathered the animals’ reins. “Miss Lucy, I cain’t take you on any more of Miss Cora’s errands this afternoon. It’s gettin’ late and I gotta git home. Got chores of m’ own to do.”
Lucy wasn’t a bit sorry that more afternoon errands were cut short. Her backside burned red hot, sorely chaffed from the saddle. “I couldn’t have managed the day without you, Fin.”
Fin held Jenny steady while Lucy struggled to mount the pony. And struggled. Finally, Fin heaved her up from behind. Thoroughly unladylike. She thought she heard Angie snickering from the porch.
“Jest follow the creek to get back to town.” He grabbed Sheila’s rope reins and hoisted a leg over the horse’s back. “Pleased to meetcha, Miss Lucy.”
“I’m starting to realize that you’re quite the tease. I know you wouldn’t leave me here.”
He circled back. “Jenny’ll see you home. In half the time too. Every horse knows their way home.” He didn’t wait for Lucy to respond. He gave Sheila a kick and Lucy a wave, and soon the woods swallowed him up.
Lucy stopped dead in her tracks, grabbed her blouse over her heart, and gasped long and loud. Oh my stars and garters. He was gone. She would have to find her way back to town all alone.
Jenny wiggled her sizable ears as if trying to decide whether to follow Sheila or head home. She must have decided to go home because, with no prompting from Lucy, she turned and headed toward the creek. Lucy clutched the saddle horn, her breath tight in her throat, her heart pounding, trusting the pony’s sure feet as she picked up its pace and began to trot. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, praying the first desperate prayer she’d prayed since losing Charlotte: Please God, please God, please God. But he hadn’t answered her then, and she wasn’t at all sure he would answer her now.
Four
EVERY INCH OF LUCY’S BODY ACHED, from her toes to her fingertips, from yesterday’s horseback excursion up and down a mountain. Even lifting her arm to comb her hair hurt. Her hip joints ached like she was ninety, not nineteen. She felt sore muscles she never knew existed! She smelled coffee brewing, ran the brush through her hair one last time, and looked in the mirror. She should do more with her hair, but the best she could manage this morning was to tie it back with a ribbon. It looked all right. Maybe not for Lexington, but good enough for Morehead.
She tossed her brush on her bed in the small room in Miss Maude’s boarding house, a corner room with two windows so, she discovered today, the morning light streamed in from two angles. Those corner windows reminded her of her mother’s writing room, but nothing else. This room was bare: a small desk with a lone chair, a braided rug, and a shiny brass framed bed, covered by a cheery quilt. Bare but clean, and more than adequate, considering Lucy didn’t expect to be here for long.
She had slept like a bear in hibernation, exhausted, and woke famished. Gingerly, she bent down to put on her shoes and groaned. Never again would she get on a pony, nor a horse. Father was so right. There was nothing ladylike about riding on a beast of burden.
She checked her hair one more time in the mirror, smoothed her skirt, and went downstairs for breakfast. Miss Maude, the keeper of the boarding house, bustled between the kitchen and the dining room with a ceramic pitcher, filled with what Lucy hoped was hot coffee. Widowed in midlife, Miss Maude had a cushiony bosom, a merry face with soft downy cheeks. And she was amply blessed with the gift of conversation. Lucy discovered just how blessed last night, when she arrived at the boarding house bone-tired, reeking of horses and trail dust, longing for a hot bath, and Miss Maude cornered her on the stairs. An hour later, she finally managed to wedge a word into the conversation to excuse herself and hurry up the rest of the stairs.
This morning, Miss Maude spotted Lucy coming down the stairs and pointed to an empty chair. “Come in, come in, Lucy, and sit there. From now on, that’ll be your chair for every meal. When you’re done with breakfast, fold your napkin and leave it at your place setting. I have a girl who comes to do washing but only once a week.” She strode to the door. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Lucy stopped abruptly at the doorjamb, surprised to discover a nearly full table of boarders peering back at her. It had seemed so quiet last evening. Miss Maude had volunteered much about herself, her entire life history, but nothing about other boarders.
Eyes followed her as she made her way to a chair at the opposite end of the table. Gingerly, she eased herself into the chair, trying not to moan from sore muscles. She took her time spreading the napkin over her lap. When she looked up, she found four people staring at her: two older ladies, one middle-aged woman, and then a man whom she recognized. Brother Wyatt.
“Good morning,” he said in that low, deep voice of his.
The kitchen door swung open and in burst Miss Maude, still talking as if she’d never left the room. “Have you all met Lucy Wilson?” Miss Maude paused for formal introductions. “Lucy’s kin to our Cora.”
She poured coffee first into Brother Wyatt’s cup, then she turned to fill the two elderly ladies’ cups, talking a swift stream like the dark liquid she poured. Lucy picked up her cup, hopeful that it would be filled soon.
“Her father is Charles Wilson, Cora’s first cousin. He left Rowan County to go make something of himself in the big city, and he did right for himself, didn’t he, Lucy?” She didn’t give Lucy a chance to answer but shook the pitcher and realized it was empty. “Goodness, I’ll have to get a larger coffeepot if my boarding house stays full.” Pleased, she spun around and disappeared into the kitchen again.