the top of her head.
“Good night, Lettie. And thank you for the tea.”
Once again, Lettie jerked her attention back to the older woman—though Natalie could not have been more than five or six years her elder. She offered her a quick smile that felt shaky on her own lips, then hurried toward the door. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Gruber. Sleep well.”
She was nearly out the door when Natalie called to her again. “Oh, Lettie?”
Lettie hesitated, then slowly turned to face the other woman. “Yes?”
Natalie turned back to her dresser, retrieved a small book, then moved toward her, the fabric of her wrapper rustling against the floor. “I believe you once expressed an interest in borrowing this.”
Lettie glanced down at the book of poetry in Natalie’s hands. Natalie’s long, slender, perfect hands. Lettie’s hands were small, and calloused from the work at the boardinghouse.
“Well, yes.”
“Go ahead. Take it. Keep it as long as you’d like.”
Lettie looked at Natalie in surprise. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”
“I know you will.” Natalie flashed her a quick smile. “You take care of everything so well. It amazes me how you cook and clean here at the boardinghouse and take care of the boarders as if they were your family instead of… strangers.” Lettie felt herself straighten a little at the compliment, until Natalie continued: “You’re just like a … a mother possum.”
Lettie felt her face grow stiff. “Thank you for the poetry book,” she muttered, then slipped out the door, closing it tightly behind her.
“A mother possum!” she whispered fiercely to herself, stomping down the back stairs. Then, after glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear, she muttered an unkind word that would have made her proper mother faint.
Lettie’s irritation toward Natalie was soon forgotten. Within moments, she had raided the kitchen and gathered a piece of pie, a few slices of cold meat, and a portion of homemade bread, wincing when the actions caused the cut on her finger to throb. She was about to hurry up the back stairs when she came to an abrupt halt.
What if he’d gone?
Her heart began to pound thickly within her chest at the mere thought of such a possibility. It would have been easy for him to slip from the house while she’d been attending to the other boarders. But even if the stranger hadn’t gone, there was nothing to prevent him from disappearing again the moment the house was quiet and she was asleep. And then it would only be a matter of moments before one of Jacob’s men saw him and apprehended him.
Lettie felt a shiver of foreboding at the mere thought of his capture. No. She couldn’t let that happen.
Looking about her for some solution, Lettie’s gaze fell upon the pantry door, and she quickly set the tray on the table and rushed toward the small storage room. Pulling a low stool toward the far side of the pantry, she climbed on top and reached for one of the quart-sized crocks of milk covered in a wet dishcloth. Taking it out into the kitchen, she hesitated only a moment before grasping a vial of her mother’s sleeping powder from the kitchen hutch.
After opening the milk, Lettie hesitated, biting her lip. She had no guarantee that the Highwayman was still in her room. And even if he were, she wasn’t sure that she should keep him there by force.
Shrugging away her own misgivings, Lettie uncapped the vial of sleeping powder and sprinkled a healthy measure of the substance into the milk. Her mother took about a teaspoon in her tea when she had one of her migraines.
But the Highwayman was larger than her mother—Lettie eyed the crock in her hands—and there was a lot of milk.
Taking a deep breath, she dumped half the vial into the milk. Better to be safe than sorry.
After grating nutmeg on top to disguise the taste, she placed it on the tray with the rest of the food and the untouched cups of warm milk left from the Beasleys. Then
“Good night, Lettie. And thank you for the tea.”
Once again, Lettie jerked her attention back to the older woman—though Natalie could not have been more than five or six years her elder. She offered her a quick smile that felt shaky on her own lips, then hurried toward the door. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Gruber. Sleep well.”
She was nearly out the door when Natalie called to her again. “Oh, Lettie?”
Lettie hesitated, then slowly turned to face the other woman. “Yes?”
Natalie turned back to her dresser, retrieved a small book, then moved toward her, the fabric of her wrapper rustling against the floor. “I believe you once expressed an interest in borrowing this.”
Lettie glanced down at the book of poetry in Natalie’s hands. Natalie’s long, slender, perfect hands. Lettie’s hands were small, and calloused from the work at the boardinghouse.
“Well, yes.”
“Go ahead. Take it. Keep it as long as you’d like.”
Lettie looked at Natalie in surprise. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”
“I know you will.” Natalie flashed her a quick smile. “You take care of everything so well. It amazes me how you cook and clean here at the boardinghouse and take care of the boarders as if they were your family instead of… strangers.” Lettie felt herself straighten a little at the compliment, until Natalie continued: “You’re just like a … a mother possum.”
Lettie felt her face grow stiff. “Thank you for the poetry book,” she muttered, then slipped out the door, closing it tightly behind her.
“A mother possum!” she whispered fiercely to herself, stomping down the back stairs. Then, after glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear, she muttered an unkind word that would have made her proper mother faint.
Lettie’s irritation toward Natalie was soon forgotten. Within moments, she had raided the kitchen and gathered a piece of pie, a few slices of cold meat, and a portion of homemade bread, wincing when the actions caused the cut on her finger to throb. She was about to hurry up the back stairs when she came to an abrupt halt.
What if he’d gone?
Her heart began to pound thickly within her chest at the mere thought of such a possibility. It would have been easy for him to slip from the house while she’d been attending to the other boarders. But even if the stranger hadn’t gone, there was nothing to prevent him from disappearing again the moment the house was quiet and she was asleep. And then it would only be a matter of moments before one of Jacob’s men saw him and apprehended him.
Lettie felt a shiver of foreboding at the mere thought of his capture. No. She couldn’t let that happen.
Looking about her for some solution, Lettie’s gaze fell upon the pantry door, and she quickly set the tray on the table and rushed toward the small storage room. Pulling a low stool toward the far side of the pantry, she climbed on top and reached for one of the quart-sized crocks of milk covered in a wet dishcloth. Taking it out into the kitchen, she hesitated only a moment before grasping a vial of her mother’s sleeping powder from the kitchen hutch.
After opening the milk, Lettie hesitated, biting her lip. She had no guarantee that the Highwayman was still in her room. And even if he were, she wasn’t sure that she should keep him there by force.
Shrugging away her own misgivings, Lettie uncapped the vial of sleeping powder and sprinkled a healthy measure of the substance into the milk. Her mother took about a teaspoon in her tea when she had one of her migraines.
But the Highwayman was larger than her mother—Lettie eyed the crock in her hands—and there was a lot of milk.
Taking a deep breath, she dumped half the vial into the milk. Better to be safe than sorry.
After grating nutmeg on top to disguise the taste, she placed it on the tray with the rest of the food and the untouched cups of warm milk left from the Beasleys. Then
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