tentatively allowed Emma to dip the cloth and poke it into his mouth again. This time he sucked noisily at it.
Megan chose Peg, the littlest, and followed Emma’s lead. “They took the milk nicely,” Emma said as they finished, although by the time Megan had fed Peg and Patches, her dress was splattered with milk. Clumsily, with Megan helping her, Emma climbed to her feet. “We know how often Lady fed her pups, and we can keep the same schedule.”
“I’ll do it,” Megan said. “It’s too hard for you, and it’s my—my responsibility.”
Heartbroken, she gazed up at Emma, who wrapped her arms around Megan, hugging her close. “Oh, Megan!” Emma’s voice trembled. “I miss Lady, too, but dear little girl, I’m so very, very thankful that it wasn’t
you
!”
“Lady died because of me,” Megan whispered. “I brought the bad luck.”
“No, you didn’t!” Emma was emphatic. “Sorrow is a part of everyone’s life. We expect it and learn to live with it. I don’t want you blaming yourself for what happened. You mustn’t think for a moment that you were the cause of the bad luck. That’s not true!”
But Megan could still see the gypsy’s face and hear the gypsy’s bad-luck curse. Lady would not have died if she hadn’t been protecting Megan. Megan woke that night hearing Emma’s muffled tears, and she curled into a small, tight ball of misery. First her family had been split apart; now poor Lady was gone forever. Megan couldn’t even bear to imagine what sorrow she would bring next to the ones she loved.
In the morning, Megan had no time to think about what might take place, busy as she was with tasks that had to be done no matter what else happened.
The pups took the sugared milk greedily each time it was offered, and by the third day Megan stopped worrying about them, assured that they’d continue to grow stronger and healthier.
It was just after she’d finished feeding them their evening meal that she and Emma, who was browning sugar in the iron skillet to make a caramelized sauce for custard, heard a horse’s hoofbeats on the road.
Megan opened the door to see not Mr. Haskill but a lean, deeply tanned man who swung down from his horse to talk to Ben. The two men walked toward the barn, the stranger holding his horse’s bridle, and Megan popped back inside the house, quietly shutting the door. “It’s not Mr. Haskill. It’s someone else,” she said.
Emma looked up from her work. “Who?”
“I don’t know. A man alone who came on horseback.”
“In any case, we’ll have a guest for supper,” Emma said, her glance darting critically about the room. “It’s a good thing there’s plenty of side meat. And wasn’t it lucky I picked today to make a custard? Put an extra plate on the table, and oh—that rug by the fireplace—does it need shaking out?” As she spoke, Emma briskly stirred the contents of the skillet.
“The rug looks fine to me,” Megan said, smiling at the way Emma’s eyes were shining at the prospect of having a visitor.
Within a few minutes Ben led the man into the house, to be greeted by Emma, who had changed to a fresh apron, and Megan, whose scalp still tingled from having her hair quickly brushed.
“This is Mr. Thomas Cartwright,” Ben said. “I’ve invited him to stay the night with us.”
“Ma’am,” Mr. Cartwright said, quickly pulling off his wide-brimmed felt hat to expose a roughly cut shock of dark hair. He smiled at Megan, too.
“You’ll share our supper, Mr. Cartwright?” Emma said.
“With pleasure.” Mr. Cartwright leaned his bulging saddlebags against the wall. He eyed the table so eagerly that Megan knew he must be hungry.
“Then sit right down,” Emma said. “Megan and I will dish up the meal right away.”
“We’re having custard for dessert,” Megan told Mr. Cartwright, and he smiled so broadly that a dimple flickered in his right cheek.
“My favorite,” he said, “and it’s been at least two years since
Megan chose Peg, the littlest, and followed Emma’s lead. “They took the milk nicely,” Emma said as they finished, although by the time Megan had fed Peg and Patches, her dress was splattered with milk. Clumsily, with Megan helping her, Emma climbed to her feet. “We know how often Lady fed her pups, and we can keep the same schedule.”
“I’ll do it,” Megan said. “It’s too hard for you, and it’s my—my responsibility.”
Heartbroken, she gazed up at Emma, who wrapped her arms around Megan, hugging her close. “Oh, Megan!” Emma’s voice trembled. “I miss Lady, too, but dear little girl, I’m so very, very thankful that it wasn’t
you
!”
“Lady died because of me,” Megan whispered. “I brought the bad luck.”
“No, you didn’t!” Emma was emphatic. “Sorrow is a part of everyone’s life. We expect it and learn to live with it. I don’t want you blaming yourself for what happened. You mustn’t think for a moment that you were the cause of the bad luck. That’s not true!”
But Megan could still see the gypsy’s face and hear the gypsy’s bad-luck curse. Lady would not have died if she hadn’t been protecting Megan. Megan woke that night hearing Emma’s muffled tears, and she curled into a small, tight ball of misery. First her family had been split apart; now poor Lady was gone forever. Megan couldn’t even bear to imagine what sorrow she would bring next to the ones she loved.
In the morning, Megan had no time to think about what might take place, busy as she was with tasks that had to be done no matter what else happened.
The pups took the sugared milk greedily each time it was offered, and by the third day Megan stopped worrying about them, assured that they’d continue to grow stronger and healthier.
It was just after she’d finished feeding them their evening meal that she and Emma, who was browning sugar in the iron skillet to make a caramelized sauce for custard, heard a horse’s hoofbeats on the road.
Megan opened the door to see not Mr. Haskill but a lean, deeply tanned man who swung down from his horse to talk to Ben. The two men walked toward the barn, the stranger holding his horse’s bridle, and Megan popped back inside the house, quietly shutting the door. “It’s not Mr. Haskill. It’s someone else,” she said.
Emma looked up from her work. “Who?”
“I don’t know. A man alone who came on horseback.”
“In any case, we’ll have a guest for supper,” Emma said, her glance darting critically about the room. “It’s a good thing there’s plenty of side meat. And wasn’t it lucky I picked today to make a custard? Put an extra plate on the table, and oh—that rug by the fireplace—does it need shaking out?” As she spoke, Emma briskly stirred the contents of the skillet.
“The rug looks fine to me,” Megan said, smiling at the way Emma’s eyes were shining at the prospect of having a visitor.
Within a few minutes Ben led the man into the house, to be greeted by Emma, who had changed to a fresh apron, and Megan, whose scalp still tingled from having her hair quickly brushed.
“This is Mr. Thomas Cartwright,” Ben said. “I’ve invited him to stay the night with us.”
“Ma’am,” Mr. Cartwright said, quickly pulling off his wide-brimmed felt hat to expose a roughly cut shock of dark hair. He smiled at Megan, too.
“You’ll share our supper, Mr. Cartwright?” Emma said.
“With pleasure.” Mr. Cartwright leaned his bulging saddlebags against the wall. He eyed the table so eagerly that Megan knew he must be hungry.
“Then sit right down,” Emma said. “Megan and I will dish up the meal right away.”
“We’re having custard for dessert,” Megan told Mr. Cartwright, and he smiled so broadly that a dimple flickered in his right cheek.
“My favorite,” he said, “and it’s been at least two years since
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