The table erupted—except for Reese, who was still stranger enough to doings in the Burton clan to be unaware of how events might proceed. “Didja, now!” ejaculated Gabriel, slapping his friend on the shoulder with enough force to knock him off the chair. “Huh. Gotta know more details, so I can get my best bib and tucker all cleaned. When is it?”
Paul cast a mirthful look at his bride-to-be, who was playing coy with mirthful looks of her own. “Oh, she won’t let me spread the news yet. Not till Cam and Ben get back, so’s we can have a family gatherin’ first.”
“Oh, Molly,” Letty breathed. “I’m so happy for both of you. Is it to be—soon?” she finished up in a whisper.
“Yes,” Molly whispered back. “But Paul wants me to have the Widow Semple create a stylish new wedding dress, and that may take a while.”
Paul, overhearing, interceded. “Much as I know she’d like wearin’ Cam’s dress,” he said quietly, with a meaningful smile down at her lovely face, “I’d rather she get herself one with no—uh—unhappy memories.”
Everyone privy to the facts—which meant everyone but Reese—immediately nodded in understanding and agreement. Too much water under the bridge; it would be impossible that she could wear the same dress for her second marriage as for her first. And kudos to Paul to realizing how that fact, how such
unpleasant memories might affect his bride, and offering an alternative.
Meanwhile, Reese simply set aside his empty plate, took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and waited. Explanations usually followed an indecipherable situation. All in good time.
He seemed to be, Letty was beginning to discern, after sending him an inscrutable upward scan, a man of infinite patience.
She also sent that quick scan around the room, with its wall-to-wall customers all straining to eavesdrop on the compact little clique in the corner. What was the matter with these people? Had no one living in Turnabout ever gotten married before?
The meal finished on a round of good wishes and congratulations and conviviality from not only those at the table, but surrounding diners, who had visibly increased in numbers as the evening wore on. Thus no curious questions were asked about the reason for Reese’s presence (although it is fair to say assumptions flew about like winged birds), or his accompaniment of Miss Letitia Burton, or possible plans for their own nuptials. That could wait.
Walter, bidding the group a personal farewell at the door, urged them to return soon. Business had never been so booming!
The Burtons and their entourage were leaving without, at least for several, the satisfaction of obtaining more personal information from Reese Barclay. No particular facts about his upbringing, his travels, his choice of employment, his future plans, even his state of mind.
That, too, could wait. That, too, would come all in good time.
“May I have the honor of walkin’ you back to your room, Miss Burton?” Reese, stepping with relief back into the gathering dusk of twilight, wanted to know.
“Of course you shall!” replied irrepressible Molly, before her sister could respond. “And Paul and I will follow along behind, at a discreet distance, so that the two of you may converse more privately. Won’t we, Paul?” With a giggle and a smile of delight, she tucked her arm in his.
“I reckon we’ll do whatever you want,” Paul gave her a besotted grin.
“Oh, spare me,” grumped Gabriel. “Reckon I’ll just haveta head back to my bachelor quarters, alone.”
“Cheer up, Doc.” Could Letty, for whom a great sense of peace and satisfaction had begun to permeate her spirit, have shown herself as being less sympathetic? “Maybe you’ll have someone waiting there for treatment.”
Chapter Eight
“GOT ENOUGH WORMS DUG yet to go fishin’?”
Things were so quiet on this late afternoon chasing itself into October that the town might have declared it a Do Nothing Day. Not much business was being conducted, for some reason, so the restaurants and saloons were about ready to close up shop; no deliveries were being brought in or sent out; no crimes had been committed, and no illnesses or accidents reported.
Thus Dr. Gabriel Havers, half-mad with boredom, went out looking for trouble. Where else would he go first but to the back yard of Ben and Camellia Forrester, where something might be brewing in the way of activity?
He found what he was looking for in the person of one dusty, grubby, hot and irritated Hannah Burton. She was wearing a big floppy hat to protect her fair skin against the southern sun, gardening gloves, and something that looked like a canvas feed bag enveloping her dress. A wheelbarrow filled with miscellaneous roots and a great deal of rich black soil stood off to one side; a spade had been shoved deep into the earth to stand upright, a few steps away; a large bucket of water waited to be used when necessary.
“Worms?” Hannah straightened an aching back and looked up with asperity. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Well, that.” From where Gabriel slumped, both arms folded atop the picket fence while he watched her, the spread of his hand indicated an expansive work area. “Figured you were plannin’ a day over at Juniper Creek, just loungin’ in the shade. Lotsa good places to catch a bullhead or two.”
She snorted, an unladylike sound completely uncharacteristic of her beauty but not of her temperament. “You come right on over and help yourself, if you’re so inclined. I have better things to do than go fishing.”
The doctor’s eyes drifted half-closed with remembered pleasures. “Oh, honey, there ain’t much better to do than go fishin’. Well...maybe some things. I’ve been told there’s a swimmin’ hole there that is just perfect for skinny-dippin’. Never had the fun of that here myself, but I’m willin’ to give just about anything a try.”
“Letty was right.”
“Was she, now? About what?”