The Girl in the Window by Valerie Douglas

been impossible to handle, a difficult child. That had made her heart hurt, but it wasn’t unexpected. Over time her mother would have convinced herself of it because the myth would have been better than the reality. It always had been for her.
    “Good,” Russell said. “You pick out the colors, I pick the paint.” He nailed her with a hard glance. “I won’t buy cheap stuff, this’ll be good paint. Expensive, but worth it, last you twenty years or more. You doubt me, Josh there’ll back me up.”
    For some reason rather than frightening her the whole conversation amused her, the give and take of it.
    A country man, Russ was as honest as the day was long, Beth knew, so she restrained her smile out of respect for him. He was a good man, a hard man, but a good one. The kind of man who wouldn’t have laid a hand on his kids any more than they deserved, but would have hugged them just as often. If he said he would do a thing he would do it.
    “All right,” she said.
    “Just don’t make the paint pink. I can’t abide pink and I won’t paint it that color. Or purple,” Russ said, suddenly.
    He reminded her of her father, yes, and yet he still it made her smile.
    Russ was a lot like her father at heart, and yet not. He was kinder. Life hadn’t disappointed him as much.
    Even so, who would paint a house purple?
    Her heart lightened.
    “No,” Beth said, “I was thinking green. A lighter green for the walls, a dark green for the shutters and a cream color for the window sills.”
    Fresh, natural.
    Russ nodded. “Good.”
    Once again she fought a smile, seeing his thoughts in his eyes, his expression.
    Those were good colors, practical colors, the kind of colors houses should be painted.
    “We’ll start this weekend,” Russ said, with that challenging look at Will, who returned it calmly and nodded. “Sand off the old paint. Check the window frames and wood for rot. Paint on Sunday if there’s time.”
    “I’ll provide meals,” Beth offered, “Breakfast, lunch and dinner, if you’re here for them.”
    “Ma’am,” Will said, almost reverently, “I’d almost do it just for the food, if it’s as good as this.”
    “Don’t be foolish, boy,” Russ said, sharply, and gave him a look. “We’ll take a good wage.”
    This time Beth did smile. “Of course, and you’ll get one. You tell me what you want, I’ll pay it.”
    You didn’t haggle over some things and work was one of them. An honest day’s work, an honest day’s wage.
    “Each day,” Russ said, giving her a figure. “In cash.”
    The smile twitched at her mouth again. Cash the IRS wouldn’t see and couldn’t tax. Times were tight.
    She nodded. It was fair.
    “What do you want us to do with the furniture?” Josh asked, from his seat on the lawn chair nearby.
    It was loaded on the trailer attached to his pickup, waiting in the drive beside the house, covered by a tarp.
    “The antique shop in town said they’d take them.”
    As they were the same vintage as the coat tree and probably bought by her father’s parents, the folks who owned the antique shop had been pleased to take them. No guarantee they were actually antiques, but they were good solid pieces, so they wouldn’t have reason to complain either way.
    “Take what’s reasonable for labor and gas and all that out of what they give you,” Beth said.
    She didn’t really care how much it was.
    “We can bring the rest over when we come on Saturday,” Russ said, firmly, with a look to Josh, “if we don’t see you before then.”
    She nodded.
    As if it were a signal, all of them got up to carry their plates into the kitchen.
    When Josh rinsed his off before he left it in the sink to drain, they all followed suit.
    There was no dishwasher, there’d been no room for one in a kitchen of this age. She didn’t really need one, except for occasions such as this.
    “We’d best get that furniture into town before the shop closes and then get back to work,” Josh said, by way of