raped and
killed Hannah. He’d found the first one, already on his deathbed
from consumption. That man had led him to Mitchell Dority, the
second man, and ultimately to Sarah and John Beckett. Within weeks
of arriving in Cedarbrook, he’d watched Dority get shot by an angry
father, half-crazy with rage after Dority had raped his
seventeen-year-old daughter. The bastard had bled to death before
George could question him about the third man.
At least pretending to be Melody Song’s
husband gave him something new to lie about.
“Your grandmother seems like a fine woman,”
he said.
Tears filled her pretty dark blue eyes and it
made his stomach lurch. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.
“I hate it that she’s sick,” Melody
whispered.
“I suspect she hates it, too,” he said. “But
she’s dealing with it. I think the rest of the family can only do
the same.”
“Bernard said that she’s been like her old
self these last couple days, every since she heard that we were
coming.” She reached out and touched his arm and he felt the jolt
clear to his toes. “We can’t let her know that this is a lie. We
just can’t.”
She had nice hands. Her nails were painted
with a lighter pink than had been on her toes. Even in her
trousers, she was so feminine, so delicately built. “It’ll be all
right,” he said. “Go and dry your tears,” he said. “It won’t do for
her to think that you’ve been talking to your husband and that he
made you cry.”
She took a step toward the privy but then
stopped, her face serious. “I don’t know what I would have done if
you hadn’t volunteered to come with me.”
“You’d have figured something out,” he
said.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I
haven’t said it yet, thank you. I really appreciate everything that
you’re doing.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said and meant it. It was nice to think that she’d been the reason that he’d been
pulled forward to this time. That maybe helping her was a chance to
make up for the despair and hatred that had consumed him after
Hannah’s death. “I’m glad I could—”
“What are you two doing back here?”
Melody jerked back so fast it was a wonder
she didn’t knock her head against the wall. George turned and saw
Tilly at the end of the hallway, her hands on her ample hips.
“I. . .uh. . .we. . .” Melody stammered.
He turned back toward Melody. Well, she was
no good at pretending. No wonder she’d been worried.
She ran a hand through her hair. “I. . .mean,
we were just—”
George did the only thing he could think of
to shut her up. He kissed her.
It was a brief brush of his lips across hers.
It should have meant nothing but when he heard the catch of her
breath and felt the warmth of her skin, it made him think about
things that he hadn’t thought about in many months. And when she
put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him even closer yet, he
felt his own skin heat up.
“How sweet.”
Melody jerked away from him.
He looked over his shoulder at Tilly. She
didn’t look like she thought there was anything sweet about the
situation. In fact, she looked like she’d eaten a sour pickle, and
he realized that she didn’t take the trouble to guard her feelings
so carefully when Pearl wasn’t around.
“I’m sorry to delay the meal,” he said,
embarrassed that his own voice was a little shaky, “but I couldn’t
miss the opportunity to spend a couple minutes with my wife.”
“Oh, please. Can we just get this meal over
with?”
“We’ll be along shortly,” he said. He stared
at the woman until she turned and walked away. Then he turned back
toward Melody. She looked pale and she had her hands clasped so
tight in front of her that her fingers were white.
“I apologize,” he said. He’d had no right to
take such liberties.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You
saved me from myself. I never have been able to handle Tilly. She
always seems to know how to push
killed Hannah. He’d found the first one, already on his deathbed
from consumption. That man had led him to Mitchell Dority, the
second man, and ultimately to Sarah and John Beckett. Within weeks
of arriving in Cedarbrook, he’d watched Dority get shot by an angry
father, half-crazy with rage after Dority had raped his
seventeen-year-old daughter. The bastard had bled to death before
George could question him about the third man.
At least pretending to be Melody Song’s
husband gave him something new to lie about.
“Your grandmother seems like a fine woman,”
he said.
Tears filled her pretty dark blue eyes and it
made his stomach lurch. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.
“I hate it that she’s sick,” Melody
whispered.
“I suspect she hates it, too,” he said. “But
she’s dealing with it. I think the rest of the family can only do
the same.”
“Bernard said that she’s been like her old
self these last couple days, every since she heard that we were
coming.” She reached out and touched his arm and he felt the jolt
clear to his toes. “We can’t let her know that this is a lie. We
just can’t.”
She had nice hands. Her nails were painted
with a lighter pink than had been on her toes. Even in her
trousers, she was so feminine, so delicately built. “It’ll be all
right,” he said. “Go and dry your tears,” he said. “It won’t do for
her to think that you’ve been talking to your husband and that he
made you cry.”
She took a step toward the privy but then
stopped, her face serious. “I don’t know what I would have done if
you hadn’t volunteered to come with me.”
“You’d have figured something out,” he
said.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I
haven’t said it yet, thank you. I really appreciate everything that
you’re doing.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said and meant it. It was nice to think that she’d been the reason that he’d been
pulled forward to this time. That maybe helping her was a chance to
make up for the despair and hatred that had consumed him after
Hannah’s death. “I’m glad I could—”
“What are you two doing back here?”
Melody jerked back so fast it was a wonder
she didn’t knock her head against the wall. George turned and saw
Tilly at the end of the hallway, her hands on her ample hips.
“I. . .uh. . .we. . .” Melody stammered.
He turned back toward Melody. Well, she was
no good at pretending. No wonder she’d been worried.
She ran a hand through her hair. “I. . .mean,
we were just—”
George did the only thing he could think of
to shut her up. He kissed her.
It was a brief brush of his lips across hers.
It should have meant nothing but when he heard the catch of her
breath and felt the warmth of her skin, it made him think about
things that he hadn’t thought about in many months. And when she
put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him even closer yet, he
felt his own skin heat up.
“How sweet.”
Melody jerked away from him.
He looked over his shoulder at Tilly. She
didn’t look like she thought there was anything sweet about the
situation. In fact, she looked like she’d eaten a sour pickle, and
he realized that she didn’t take the trouble to guard her feelings
so carefully when Pearl wasn’t around.
“I’m sorry to delay the meal,” he said,
embarrassed that his own voice was a little shaky, “but I couldn’t
miss the opportunity to spend a couple minutes with my wife.”
“Oh, please. Can we just get this meal over
with?”
“We’ll be along shortly,” he said. He stared
at the woman until she turned and walked away. Then he turned back
toward Melody. She looked pale and she had her hands clasped so
tight in front of her that her fingers were white.
“I apologize,” he said. He’d had no right to
take such liberties.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You
saved me from myself. I never have been able to handle Tilly. She
always seems to know how to push
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