"Mrs. Whitcomb;' a man said, tipping his hat. "Glad to see you out again, maam.
She returned his greeting.
"Morning, Mrs. Whitcomb;' a woman said seconds later.
Molly could hardly take five steps without people welcoming her back to town. By the time she reached the Mullinses' store, she wondered how she could have ever felt so lonely earlier in the week. She spotted Belle waiting for her in a curtained doorway toward the back. "Hello, Mrs. Birch. I hope I'm not late:"
"Not at all. You're early." Belle grinned, and held her gaze a little longer than necessary. "I've got your dresses hanging right in here:" She retrieved them from a hook. "Go ahead and slip on the first one, then I'll be in"
Curious over how Belle looked at her sometimes, Molly stepped into a side room, closed the door, and slipped on the first dress. She hadn't known Belle Birch was a seamstress until Belle brought a meal by earlier that week. It had come up during conversation, and Molly had commissioned her then and there to make two new dresses. Belle had borrowed one of her gowns to use as a pattern, and Molly had intentionally chosen one that was especially roomy through the bust and waist.
"I'm ready, Mrs. Birch." She admired Belle Birch's handiwork in the mirror on the wall. "Gifted with a needle and thread" was the only way to describe the woman. The simple black day dress buttoned up the front, but the detail work-the tiny black beads sewn onto the collar and around the wrists and accenting the bodice-was exquisite.
Belle returned, pincushion in hand.
"You outdid yourself, Mrs. Birch. This is absolutely lovely!" And far nicer than anything she had expected.
"I'm glad you're pleased, ma'am." Belle's smile bloomed. "Now, hold still while I fit it to you:" Her gaze lowered. "What did I do wrong here?" She gathered the extra fabric at Molly's waistline, frowning. "I cut this way too big for you, ma'am. I'm so sorry."
"Oh no, it's fine. I like it like this:"
Belle huffed a soft laugh. "Like what? Big enough where you can 'bout walk right out of it?" She reached for a pin. "I'll just take the waist up about an inch or so on each side. That'll still give you plenty of-"
"No, please, it's fine:" Molly stayed Belle's hand on her waist, softening her insistence with a smile. "I've lost weight in recent months-" Which was true, even after becoming pregnant. "But I'm already gaining that weight back. Especially with the way I've been eating this past week. Which reminds me-that stew of yours was delicious:"
Belle's frown smoothed. "You liked it?"
"Liked it? Right after you left, Sheriff McPherson stopped by to see how I was. I told him about our visit and what you'd brought, and I just cried:"
"You didn't;' Belle whispered, her dark eyes sparkling.
"I'm afraid I did. I was an emotional mess" Molly laughed along with her. "I'd been feeling a bit lonely, and the first week of school hadn't gone as-" She caught herself, uncertain how much to reveal. But Belle seemed so genuine and kind. "To be candid with you, it hadn't gone as well as I'd thought it would. I was exhausted and disappointed, and you bringing your stew. . " She sighed. "Well, it felt like a taste of home:"
Belle's eyes went moist. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me, Dr. Whitcomb. Thank you, ma'am."
Molly felt herself tearing up too and was surprised when Belle laughed.
`Aren't we a pair?" Belle shook her head. "Look at the two of us, standing here cryin' over stew."
Molly gave her hand a squeeze. "I nearly had to arm-wrestle Sheriff McPherson for the last slice of your corn bread:'
"Is that so?" Belle raised a brow, a glint of mischief accompanying the gesture. "My guess is that he would've let you win, ma'am."
Too late, Molly realized that what she'd said could easily be misconstrued. "When he came by, Sheriff McPherson hadn't eaten yet, so I asked him to join me. That's all:"
Belle stared, a smile tracing her lips. "You don't have to offer explanation to me, Dr. Whitcomb:'
But Molly felt as though she did. "Sheriff McPherson and I are friends, Mrs. Birch. He's a very kind man, but he doesn't treat me any differently than he treats anyone else:"
Belle nodded and began adjusting the hem of the dress. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say."
Hearing the doubt in Belle's voice and knowing the woman meant no harm in her teasing, Molly decided that further protest would only make her appear defensive. Which didn't serve her purpose, or James's.
When Belle finished the fittings, they walked outside to the boardwalk together.
"I'll have the dresses ready for you by midweek, ma'am. I'll leave them here at the store:"
"Would you like the other half of your payment today?" Molly reached into her reticule. "I can-"
"No, ma'am. When the dresses are done is when I get paid my other half. Thank you, though:"
Molly sensed Belle looking at her again, as she had earlier. Feeling they'd formed enough of a friendship, she posed the question gently. "I hope you won't think me forward for asking this, but ... I'm wondering.... On occasion, I get the feeling that ... you're staring at me. Though maybe I'm imagining it:"
Belle looked away, sighing. "No, ma'am. It's not you imagining it. It's me. I try not to stare, but it's hard not to. I'm sorry." Wistfulness softened her features. "You're the spittin' image of the woman whose husband owned me when I lived back in Tennessee:'
Molly stared. No matter how hard she tried, the words wouldn't come, not seeing the depth of emotion in Belle's face.
"She was a real good woman, Dr. Whitcomb. She taught me how to read and how to write. But as good as she was-and as innocent-her husband was just as wicked:'
Heaviness settled over Molly, and thinking of Elijah, she thought she understood what Belle meant but wasn't saying.
"So that's why I sometimes stare at you, ma'am. I'm sorry for doing it."
Molly took hold of her hand. "There's no need to apologize. I'm just sorry that I remind you of something so painful."
Belle tightened her grip. "What was done to me was wrong, and God's heart broke ... each time. But I could never be sad over what came out of it. I love my son with all my heart. My husband does too:" Unshed tears glistened in her dark eyes. "That man who owned me did me wrong." She shook her head. "But God, in His great mercy, He worked it for good. Like He does, in time, for those who are His and who love Him. So when I look at you, ma'am, it's not pain I'm feelin: I'm thankin' the Lord for standin' beside me through those dark times, when I thought I was alone"-she smiled-"but never was:'
Molly was halfway through town on her way home, her thoughts still with Belle, her tears barely dry, when she heard someone calling her name.
"Signora Whitcomb!"
She didn't have to look to know who it was. She waited until he drew closer. "Angelo Giordano!" she said with an Italian accent, and he beamed. She asked him how he was, but as he answered, she drew her own conclusions. She tried to convince herself that he'd gained some weight, but the thinness of his arms lent little evidence of that. And the sallow look of his skin didn't either.
"Did Sheriff McPherson find you a job?" she asked in his native tongue.
"Si, signora." He spoke quickly, and twice she had to encourage him to please talk more slowly-Parli lentamente.
James had indeed helped find him a job, which was encouraging. Angelo worked at a ranch outside of town, mucking stalls and baling hay. It was hard enough to imagine the boy lifting a pitchfork, much less hefting bales of hay.
But it was his question to her that Molly found most interesting. And compelling.
She stared, a smile coming to her face. "Dimmi, vuoi imparare l'inglese?"
"Si, Signora Whitcomb. "Saro bravo, ve to prometto."
He wanted to learn to speak English, and she had no doubt he would be a good student, as he'd said he would be.
They arranged their first meeting for an afternoon the coming week, and his face lit when she invited him to meet her at the schoolhouse after classes were dismissed.
His next question came more slowly, and she sensed it held great importance to him.
She was touched by the sincerity of his invitation. "Si, Angelo:' She would be honored to come to his home and meet his family soon.
He dipped his head repeatedly. "Grazie, Signora Whitcomb. Grazie mille."
They walked together to the edge of town, where he continued on down the road. Molly took the turnoff toward the cabin, eager to get home.
She was nearly past the schoolhouse when she looked over to see the door ajar. Strange. Maybe Josiah hadn't closed it firmly enough on his last visit. He'd volunteered to hang some maps for her. But it wasn't like him to leave the door unlatched. He was always so thorough in his work.
Molly climbed the stairs and pushed open the door. She spotted a boy seated at one of the desks toward the front. Hunched over, intent on whatever he was doing, he didn't look up. She took a closer look.
"Billy?" she asked quietly, not wishing to scare him.
Billy Bolden jumped up, nearly knocking over the desk. "Dr. Whitcomb!" His face reddened as a book hit the floor with a thwak! "I didn't know you would be in today, ma'am"
Molly approached, looking around the empty room. "What are you doing here, Billy? And on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, no less:" As if she didn't already have a good idea.
His gaze darted to the book on the floor. "I'm sorry that I broke the rules by being in here outside of class time, ma'am"
She smiled in the hope of putting him at ease, more than a little curious as to what book he was reading. "You haven't broken any rules by being here, Billy"
"Oh yes, ma'am! Pa says I'm not supposed to come in here anytime outside of school hours. He said it's a rule:"
Molly didn't know of any such rule existing, but she didn't wish to go against the boy's father either. She still wasn't in good standing with Hank Bolden, not since the incident with Angelo Giordano. Every time Mr. Bolden saw her, he gave her a withering glare. She couldn't understand how a man as hard-edged and hostile as Hank Bolden could have a son as kind and thoughtful as Billy.
Then again, perhaps she did know.
Billy's mother, Ida, was Billy in female form. Ida Bolden had brought by dinner one afternoon last week with instructions that she would pick up her dishes sometime later, and for Molly not to bother bringing them to church. Which made her wonder if Hank Bolden was aware of his wife's kindness, and if so, might he disapprove?
Question lit Billy's eyes. "How are you feeling, Dr. Whitcomb? Better, I hope?"
"Much better, thank you:" She glanced at the book on the floor, unable to read the title. "May I ask"-she indicated the bookwith a nod-"what you're reading?"
Billy nodded and bent to retrieve it. Guilt clouding his features, he held out the volume, his shoulders slumping. "You said not to take any books off the special shelf without your permission, ma'am. I'm sorry, but I started reading this the last afternoon of class, and"-his voice grew more earnest-"I just couldn't wait any longer to find out what happened next:"
Molly read the title and lifted a brow. "The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures ofRobinson Crusoe of York, Mariner." It was her personal copy and an early edition. Not rare or particularly valuable, but special. Her father had read it to her when she was a child.
"If you need to tell my pa-" Billy's swallow was audible-"I-I'll understand, ma'am."
Molly urged his chin back up. "I would never encourage you to do something against your father's-or mother's-wishes, Billy. So, since your pa said you're not to be in here outside of school, you'll need to leave:'
He nodded, turning to go.
"But-" She waited until he looked back. "You'll have to take this with you:" His sudden grin drew one from her. "Under one condition! You'll have to tell me when you get to the part about the shipwreck:"
"Which one, ma'am? There've already been two!"
She laughed. Billy Bolden was by far her most avid reader in class. "I don't want to spoil anything for you. Finish the book, and then we'll discuss it. Agreed?"
Grinning, Billy nodded, a hank of hair falling into his eyes. "Thank you, Dr. Whitcomb. I'll take good care of it too:" He was almost to the door when it opened.
Elijah Birch stopped short in the entryway. "Excuse me;" he said quietly to Billy, then turned in her direction. "I knocked on your cabin door, ma'am. You weren't there. I didn't mean to ... I don't aim to be a bother:'
"You're never a bother, Elijah" Molly joined the boys at the door, seeing the book she'd loaned Elijah in his hand.
"Have you read that?" Billy asked, excitement in his voice.
Elijah gave a shy nod, as though uncertain whether he should admit to such a thing.
"I loaned Elijah this book a week ago;' Molly offered. "He's a very-
"You read it in a week?" Billy's eyes widened. "It took me two!"
Normally Molly would have corrected Billy for interrupting, but hearing his enthusiasm and seeing Elijah's proud smile, she didn't have the heart to.
Elijah nodded again. "I liked it. A lot:' He laughed softly. "I thought it was funny in parts:'
"Me too!" Billy moved closer. "What part did you like best? Mine was when they started digging the hole for the cannon, and then Barbicane says to .."
Molly looked between the boys as they spoke, marveling at their love for the story, but even more at the unlikelihood of their pairing. She knew Hank Bolden wouldn't approve of the friendship. And while she doubted Josiah and Belle would disapprove, she couldn't help but think they would be cautious about it, knowing what kind of man Billy's father was.
"Have you read the next book yet? This one here?" Billy walked to the shelf and pulled off Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. He glanced at Molly, and she nodded her approval. "It's really good too:"
Elijah took it, holding it like a prized gift, just as Molly had done with her books when she was their age.
"Thank you;' Elijah said, directing the comment to them both. He turned to go, and Billy followed him out the door.