served—roasted meat, boiled potatoes, stewed okra and tomatoes, both tart and sweet pickles, thick slices of homemade bread slathered with butter and jam—as much as they wanted. Such a treat for people accustomed to eating simple meals.
The woman waved her hand as if shooing away Christina’s words. “Nonsense. It’s the least we can do, considering the tragedy that befell all of you.” She tipped her head and lowered her voice. “Have you determined the cause of the fire?”
Christina’s stomach wrenched at the question. No matter where she went in town—the café, the telegraph office, the mercantile—someone was sure to ask how the fire started. She gave the only answer she knew. “It began in the kitchen, but beyond that I don’t know.”
Mrs. Tatum gave Christina’s hand a sympathetic pat. “Such a sad thing, displacing so many people.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m certain it was an accident, no matter what peop—” Her eyes widened, and red streaked her cheeks. She released Christina’s hand with a jerk and stepped back. “But you said you needed to return to the boardinghouse, and here I’m blathering on.” An unnatural laugh spilled from her lips. “You and Cora feel free to stop by anytime to see the children. Joe and Florie miss you, you know.”
When the banker’s wife mentioned their names, the blond-headed pair bounced up from their spot on the parlor rug where they’d been constructing a wooden puzzle and dashed to Christina. Their enthusiastic hugs couldn’t quite erase the unease tiptoeing up her spine.
“We do miss you, Miss Willems—a whole lot,” Florie declared, her rosy lips curving into a pout.
“An’ Francis an’ Laura an’ Tommy, too,” Joe added.
Mrs. Tatum curved her arm around Joe’s shoulders and fitted the child against her ribs. “Francis and Laura have come by after school a time or two to play, but I know the twins would dearly love some time with their friend Tommy.”
Joe bounced on his toes, his face alight. “Yes! Can Tommy come visit? Huh, can he?”
Florie took up the cry as well until their combined voices were a cacophony of excitement. Christina started to calm them, but Mrs. Tatum leaned in first, capturing each child by the chin and tipping their faces upward. “Shh, now, you mustn’t bombard Miss Willems. She has enough to manage without arranging visits between you and your friend. Mr. Tatum and I will do our best to let you spend some time with Tommy.” She straightened and offered a smile to each crestfallen face. “Now, tell Miss Willems and Cora good-bye, and go finish your puzzle.”
The pair offered halfhearted farewells and trudged across the floor to Cora. Christina battled a wave of … what? Hurt? Jealousy? Or maybe it was resentment. How quickly Mrs. Tatum had usurped Christina’s place in the twins’ lives. Father would no doubt encourage her to be grateful the twins were responding so well to their new caretaker, but despite her best efforts, Christina couldn’t summon gratitude. Her heart felt bruised.
Even so, she forced a smile. “I appreciate your making an effort to bring the twins and Tommy together. At least Joe and Florie have each other, and Francis and Laura are nearby, but poor Tommy is all by himself at the Jonnsonmill with no other children to entertain him.” And Mr. Jonnson had made it quite clear he had no interest in providing the boy with company.
Mrs. Tatum shook her head, her brow puckering. “Oh, you placed Tommy at the mill?” Her tone held an element of dismay. “That explains why the boy wasn’t with the others at service today. Mr. Jonnson isn’t”—she cleared her throat delicately as if seeking the appropriate words—“a believer. My Harold is a deacon, and he said Reverend Huntley has visited and invited the mill owner to attend services on numerous occasions, but …” Another light ahem replaced any final thought.
For reasons beyond Christina’s understanding,
The woman waved her hand as if shooing away Christina’s words. “Nonsense. It’s the least we can do, considering the tragedy that befell all of you.” She tipped her head and lowered her voice. “Have you determined the cause of the fire?”
Christina’s stomach wrenched at the question. No matter where she went in town—the café, the telegraph office, the mercantile—someone was sure to ask how the fire started. She gave the only answer she knew. “It began in the kitchen, but beyond that I don’t know.”
Mrs. Tatum gave Christina’s hand a sympathetic pat. “Such a sad thing, displacing so many people.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m certain it was an accident, no matter what peop—” Her eyes widened, and red streaked her cheeks. She released Christina’s hand with a jerk and stepped back. “But you said you needed to return to the boardinghouse, and here I’m blathering on.” An unnatural laugh spilled from her lips. “You and Cora feel free to stop by anytime to see the children. Joe and Florie miss you, you know.”
When the banker’s wife mentioned their names, the blond-headed pair bounced up from their spot on the parlor rug where they’d been constructing a wooden puzzle and dashed to Christina. Their enthusiastic hugs couldn’t quite erase the unease tiptoeing up her spine.
“We do miss you, Miss Willems—a whole lot,” Florie declared, her rosy lips curving into a pout.
“An’ Francis an’ Laura an’ Tommy, too,” Joe added.
Mrs. Tatum curved her arm around Joe’s shoulders and fitted the child against her ribs. “Francis and Laura have come by after school a time or two to play, but I know the twins would dearly love some time with their friend Tommy.”
Joe bounced on his toes, his face alight. “Yes! Can Tommy come visit? Huh, can he?”
Florie took up the cry as well until their combined voices were a cacophony of excitement. Christina started to calm them, but Mrs. Tatum leaned in first, capturing each child by the chin and tipping their faces upward. “Shh, now, you mustn’t bombard Miss Willems. She has enough to manage without arranging visits between you and your friend. Mr. Tatum and I will do our best to let you spend some time with Tommy.” She straightened and offered a smile to each crestfallen face. “Now, tell Miss Willems and Cora good-bye, and go finish your puzzle.”
The pair offered halfhearted farewells and trudged across the floor to Cora. Christina battled a wave of … what? Hurt? Jealousy? Or maybe it was resentment. How quickly Mrs. Tatum had usurped Christina’s place in the twins’ lives. Father would no doubt encourage her to be grateful the twins were responding so well to their new caretaker, but despite her best efforts, Christina couldn’t summon gratitude. Her heart felt bruised.
Even so, she forced a smile. “I appreciate your making an effort to bring the twins and Tommy together. At least Joe and Florie have each other, and Francis and Laura are nearby, but poor Tommy is all by himself at the Jonnsonmill with no other children to entertain him.” And Mr. Jonnson had made it quite clear he had no interest in providing the boy with company.
Mrs. Tatum shook her head, her brow puckering. “Oh, you placed Tommy at the mill?” Her tone held an element of dismay. “That explains why the boy wasn’t with the others at service today. Mr. Jonnson isn’t”—she cleared her throat delicately as if seeking the appropriate words—“a believer. My Harold is a deacon, and he said Reverend Huntley has visited and invited the mill owner to attend services on numerous occasions, but …” Another light ahem replaced any final thought.
For reasons beyond Christina’s understanding,
Similar Books
