Plain as the writing on a chalkboard most times. Men are just too stupid to read the message."
Elle shoved a spiral of hair behind her ear, wondering why her chignons never held for more than an hour. "Let me say this once, so I don't have to repeat it. I will never make a fool of myself over him again. I loved him, yes, I admit. Loved. A young girl's infatuation that is a faded memory now. As pathetically faded as this dress." She plucked at her bodice. "I avoided the post office this morning, because everyone is watching me, expecting me to swoop down, snatch Noah between my teeth, and fly off with him."
"Can you say you wouldn't enjoy flying off with him in your jaws? Can you really?"
Elle dropped her head to her hands and groaned. "Oh, Christa."
"I say you can't, because I saw him today, walking back from the docks. Honest, I nearly dropped my sack of potatoes. He grew up mighty fine." Christabel clinked the cup against her teeth. "Taller than any man on the street; a head full of hair the color of good scotch whiskey. Fancy fishing pole thrown over a broad shoulder. Picture spindly Noah Garrett having broad shoulders? Not as broad as Caleb's, mind you, but a surprise considering what a scrawny boy he was."
"He was never scrawny."
Christabel threw back her head and laughed.
"Stop it," Elle whispered. "Do you want the whole town to know what we're talking about? Heaven, that's all I need."
Christabel pressed her hand to her mouth, her head bobbing. "Sorry, sorry."
"I can handle this, I'm telling you. I can handle him. Don't go making a scene."
"Uh-huh. Did you see the clothes he wore? Slicked sharp as Sunday, neat as a pin. You always liked him spit-shined, didn't you?"
Elle pinched the bridge of her nose, a nagging headache creeping up on her. "Sure, I loved feeling fit for the rag box compared to him."
"Rag box? No, just a handful of trouble every now and then. Still are, I guess. But a man forgets all his arguments real quick when he looks into a face pretty as yours. Rag box? That's a new one." She gazed into her empty cup, her voice going soft. "Ellie, you and Noah were the sweetest things I ever saw."
"Sweet?"
"Oh, he acted like you rubbed him the wrong way, or acted like you didn't rub him at all. Once or twice, not long before he left, I know I caught him looking at you, a spark of interest showing." Christabel dabbed the frayed edge of her apron against her lips. "You see, honey, I recognize the spark of interest in the Garrett grays."
"Good for you. Good for Caleb. Just leave me, leave Noah, out of your spark-of-interest, Garrett-gray theory."
Christabel shook her head and sighed theatrically. "Sure a shame. Imagine the children you two would have. Smart as whips with a dash of spunk thrown in."
Elle's stomach twisted. Would they have had green eyes or gray? Hair the color of a burst of sunlight or dull, stringy red? Elle lifted her head to discover a shrewd smile crossing her friend's face. "Damn," she said and wrenched to her feet.
"Wait, honey, your daddy left this."
Elle grabbed Noah's textbook and skirted the crowded tables, ignoring the amused glances and the whispered comments.
All the way home, the book pressed to her bosom, Elle wondered how many people believed she still loved Noah Garrett.
* * *
Elle gave the dangling front doorknob a gentle twist, fearing it would fall off and roll into the tangle of shrubs surrounding the porch. Another chore to add to an unbearably long list. Tossing her shawl and gloves on the hall-tree shelf, she made her way along the darkened hallway.
Elle slid the pocket door aside and twisted the gasolier switch, flooding the parlor with murky light. Sinking to the edge of the tattered love seat, she turned her attention to the leather-bound volume in her hands. She read enough to see the red-and-gold slip marked an essay about coral erosion. Unfortunately, she could not read the text well. As her father had pointed out, her French equaled a
Elle shoved a spiral of hair behind her ear, wondering why her chignons never held for more than an hour. "Let me say this once, so I don't have to repeat it. I will never make a fool of myself over him again. I loved him, yes, I admit. Loved. A young girl's infatuation that is a faded memory now. As pathetically faded as this dress." She plucked at her bodice. "I avoided the post office this morning, because everyone is watching me, expecting me to swoop down, snatch Noah between my teeth, and fly off with him."
"Can you say you wouldn't enjoy flying off with him in your jaws? Can you really?"
Elle dropped her head to her hands and groaned. "Oh, Christa."
"I say you can't, because I saw him today, walking back from the docks. Honest, I nearly dropped my sack of potatoes. He grew up mighty fine." Christabel clinked the cup against her teeth. "Taller than any man on the street; a head full of hair the color of good scotch whiskey. Fancy fishing pole thrown over a broad shoulder. Picture spindly Noah Garrett having broad shoulders? Not as broad as Caleb's, mind you, but a surprise considering what a scrawny boy he was."
"He was never scrawny."
Christabel threw back her head and laughed.
"Stop it," Elle whispered. "Do you want the whole town to know what we're talking about? Heaven, that's all I need."
Christabel pressed her hand to her mouth, her head bobbing. "Sorry, sorry."
"I can handle this, I'm telling you. I can handle him. Don't go making a scene."
"Uh-huh. Did you see the clothes he wore? Slicked sharp as Sunday, neat as a pin. You always liked him spit-shined, didn't you?"
Elle pinched the bridge of her nose, a nagging headache creeping up on her. "Sure, I loved feeling fit for the rag box compared to him."
"Rag box? No, just a handful of trouble every now and then. Still are, I guess. But a man forgets all his arguments real quick when he looks into a face pretty as yours. Rag box? That's a new one." She gazed into her empty cup, her voice going soft. "Ellie, you and Noah were the sweetest things I ever saw."
"Sweet?"
"Oh, he acted like you rubbed him the wrong way, or acted like you didn't rub him at all. Once or twice, not long before he left, I know I caught him looking at you, a spark of interest showing." Christabel dabbed the frayed edge of her apron against her lips. "You see, honey, I recognize the spark of interest in the Garrett grays."
"Good for you. Good for Caleb. Just leave me, leave Noah, out of your spark-of-interest, Garrett-gray theory."
Christabel shook her head and sighed theatrically. "Sure a shame. Imagine the children you two would have. Smart as whips with a dash of spunk thrown in."
Elle's stomach twisted. Would they have had green eyes or gray? Hair the color of a burst of sunlight or dull, stringy red? Elle lifted her head to discover a shrewd smile crossing her friend's face. "Damn," she said and wrenched to her feet.
"Wait, honey, your daddy left this."
Elle grabbed Noah's textbook and skirted the crowded tables, ignoring the amused glances and the whispered comments.
All the way home, the book pressed to her bosom, Elle wondered how many people believed she still loved Noah Garrett.
* * *
Elle gave the dangling front doorknob a gentle twist, fearing it would fall off and roll into the tangle of shrubs surrounding the porch. Another chore to add to an unbearably long list. Tossing her shawl and gloves on the hall-tree shelf, she made her way along the darkened hallway.
Elle slid the pocket door aside and twisted the gasolier switch, flooding the parlor with murky light. Sinking to the edge of the tattered love seat, she turned her attention to the leather-bound volume in her hands. She read enough to see the red-and-gold slip marked an essay about coral erosion. Unfortunately, she could not read the text well. As her father had pointed out, her French equaled a
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