Ben, seeking to relieve the tedium of his weekly bookkeeping, chose this moment to emerge for a well-deserved break. Stretching his arms wide, taking a deep breath of the foliage-scented autumn air (and discounting the pungent odor left by passing equine traffic), he shook his head at the trio of gossip-mongers.
“You fellahs are a treat. Whose reputation are you tearin’ down now?”
“You ain’t heard about the stranger in town?”
“Stranger?” The shopkeeper’s ears, so attuned to the town’s drumbeat, almost visibly fanned out. “I been buried up to my nose in accounts. When did he get here?”
“Yesterday,” said Pete with a grin. If Ben’s ears were so susceptible, than doubly so was Pete’s nose, quivering now at the tip. “Been tryin’ to find out who he is, but we ain’t seen hide nor hair of him yet.”
“What’s his name?”
With a shrug, Charlie aimed again at the spittoon. Ben took a hasty sideways step. “That’s what nobody knows. Right mysterious, wouldn’tcha say? Stayin’ a week, from what I heard.”
“Oh, just a week?” The sensitive antennae folded in on themselves. “Well, I’ll leave it up to you boys to ferret out the man’s story. Feel free to pass it along.”
Forgetting for a moment upon just whose porch he was taking up space, Pete cast a baleful look upon his host as he returned to duty. “Sometimes I don’t think that gent takes us at’all serious.”
And so the second day passed, with no one becoming the wiser as to the particulars of this stranger in their midst. He had kept to himself, eaten his meals in solitude when few were likely to patronize the dining room, and apparently spent most of his time hidden away in his room.
Doing what? was the question burning in the hearts and souls of the Gang of Three. Planning the next big bank heist? Writing a narrative of town doings to report back to some big city newspaper? Making out his Last Will and Testament? To which they had not yet discerned an answer.
By the third morning, he had decided to surface from his self-imposed seclusion.
As luck would have it, Letitia Burton was the first to see him out in public that day.
Chapter Six
“AND WHAT DO YOU TWO young ladies have planned for this fine day?” beamed Mrs. Florence McKnight, from the boarding house breakfast table over which she was presiding.
In response, Hannah smiled the smile that, for their ever-cheerful landlady, occasionally drew more into a baring of teeth than any real expression of humor. “Oh, I do believe I’ll put on my oldest gown—I seem to have plenty of those, nowadays—and go grub in the dirt somewhere.”
The face of poor Mrs. McKnight, who truly did try to be pleasant with all her lodgers, no matter how unmannerly they might be, flushed with color, and her brows rose. “Well, of course, my dear. Whatever suits your fancy.”
“You betcha.” Hannah, just to prove herself even more badly behaved than previously assumed, licked two fingers free of butter from her morning muffin. The lady’s double chins quivered. Realizing that she was deliberately being baited, however, she remained silent.
The shadows were long and growing longer in these dawns that, if not crisp and chill as might be expected farther north, were at least showing promise of the autumn to come. Daytime temperatures hovered somewhere in the mid-seventies, a quite agreeable climate for everyone who labored beneath still-sunny skies. It was vented-window weather, that allowed a sweet cool breeze to blow across stuffy rooms; and also, unfortunately, to allow various species of small stinging insects inside, as well. How one tiny determined bee could find its way from the great outdoors through a small square pane of glass, flung open wide, was simply beyond anyone’s comprehension.
Such maneuvers required the regular plying of fans—which, coincidentally, Forrester’s Mercantile just happened to stock, in a variety of lovely shades and patterns. Given a steady increase in sales, Ben would be quite happy if every window in Turnabout remained gaping to the four winds until January.
Today, however, the dining room was bug-free, and the tablecloth presented its usual pristine white facade. Several of the boarders had already finished and gone about their business—the widow Lavinia Semple, who owned the tailor shop, for one; and Miss Charlotte Harwood, town librarian. But both the Burton girls (or spinsters, as they were rarely identified, depending upon the mood and the speaker), rising slightly later than the norm, had lingered. Mrs. McKnight felt it incumbent upon her position as hostess to linger with them, despite pressing duties elsewhere.
Refusing to be drawn, she merely asked if Hannah had a location in mind.
“I’ll begin with Camellia’s garden. Amazin’ and I have decided to plant some fall flower bulbs, for spring blooming. And I want to see if we’re having any luck with the lettuce and peas. It’s late in the year to expect a crop of vegetables, of course, but I wanted to experiment. From there, we’ll trim and water all our barrel flowers, the veronica and the verbena and black-eyed susan mix. And then, perhaps, if we’re lucky, the two of us can round up some paying jobs.”
Hannah stopped, almost out of breath, and reached for the cup of hot tea at her fingertips.
“Goodness. That sounds like a full day’s work, indeed.” Mrs. McKnight put that aside and politely turned to Letitia. “And you, my dear?”
Their proprietor did not entirely approve of the career path she had chosen—not that women should pursue a career anyway. Too unfeminine, by far. And Mrs. McKnight was not alone in her opinion. Therefore, Letty trod carefully.
“I’ll probably wander along with my sister and see what needs to be done at Camellia’s. She’s bound to have all sorts of household chores I can finish while she’s away. Bread-making. Or dish-washing. Or laundry-folding.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. Her eyerolls could be quite stupendous. And effective.
Undaunted, Mrs. M. did her best to pry out information as to the wedding plans of their nearly disgraced sister Molly (although the descriptive was added only silently, not aloud) and her affianced, Turnabout’s capable sheriff.
“I’m not sure she’s in any great hurry to settle down,” Letitia said smoothly. “Paul is so head over heels in love that he’s paying her a great deal of attention, and he’s spending all his spare time in her company. Molly is certainly enjoying that. And she deserves every bit of happiness she can get, after her sad experience, you know.”