“Here ’tis,” she said, handing it to him. There was a soft smile on her lips, and as he took it, she seized his hand, her fingers gripping his. She leaned toward him, her voice low. “So now can we talk about what else—and when?”
Her perfume was almost stifling. He returned the pressure of her fingers, then dropped her hand and stepped back. “This isn’t a good time, I’m afraid.” He pocketed the letter.
“I’ll have it back, then,” she said, her mouth tightening in reproach.
He pretended not to notice. “We’ll talk later,” he said, and once again added, “my dear.” Hearing the hollowness of it, he was ashamed but could not take it back. “It’s late, and my wife is expecting me back at the house. I don’t want her to think that we—”
She pouted. “It’s late because you was so long at Annie Duncan’s house—again.” Her eyes were on his, and her startling directness was as sharp as a slap to his face.
“I was paying the stable rent,” he said.
“You an’ me, sir, we know all about Annie, don’t we?” Greta’s voice was sly, half-mocking, and Adam felt chilled. How much did she know? How could she?
She lifted her chin. “But Annie Duncan’s been a friend to me and I won’t say nothin’ against her. It’s your wife I’ve got my eye on.” Her mouth set crookedly. “She sure rules the roost in your house, don’t she? Gets everything her little heart wants and then some. Thinks she can boss everybody around, make ’em do all she wants done, just by snappin’ her fingers. Orders me to do the wash, scrub the floor, clean up after her sick in the morning, cook the meals, wash the dishes, go out and collect them seeds she wants.” She peered at him through the gathering darkness, her voice tightening. “But maybe not no more. Not after you read what’s in that letter—what never should oughtta been written to another man’s wife.”
Thinking just how dangerous she might be, Adam flinched against the acid venom in the girl’s flood of vindictive words. He had the letter, yes—but she knew what was in it. How would she use that knowledge? And what might she do when he, or Delia, didn’t give her what she wanted?
He knew he had to find a way to deal with her, but he had no idea of what that might be. He was suddenly bone-weary and quite aware that he was a coward. Whatever he had to do could wait until tomorrow.
“I’ll wish you good night, then,” he said stiffly. And in a lower, half-guilty voice, added again, “My dear Greta.”
That pleased her. Her face lightened and she leaned toward him. “Let’s have a little kiss, then,” she said. “To seal our bargain.” She closed her eyes and puckered her lips.
A bargain with the devil, he thought. He bent toward her, brushed his lips against her forehead, and stepped back quickly, out of her reach. “Go home now, Greta,” he said.
She gave him a hooded look. “You read that letter,” she commanded. She pulled her shawl up over her head, turned, and left.
He stood for a moment uncertainly, the letter in his hand, apprehension in his heart. An honorable man might return it, unread, to the person to whom it belonged—his wife. But Adam already knew that he was not an honorable man. And besides, Greta had read it. To deal with the girl, he had to know what she knew.
Full dark had fallen since he had come into the stable, and he fumbled his way to the lantern he knew to be hanging on a hook by the door. He scratched a match against his thumbnail and lit it.
By its flickering light, he unfolded the letter and began to read.
Chapter Thirteen
Queen Anne’s lace is a favorite of people who like to forage for edible foods. As a biennial, this wild ancestor of the garden carrot produces leaves and roots in the first year; in the second year, it produces flowers and seeds. You can mince the fresh leaves and add them to salad or soups. The roots are best harvested in the spring or fall of the first year when they are tender; second-year roots become woody. The peeled flower stalk has a carroty flavor and may be eaten raw or cooked. The flower itself makes a flavorful jelly or a pretty garnish. The ground seeds are spicy. However, pregnant women should avoid eating this plant; the root and seeds can produce uterine contractions and cause a miscarriage.
And, foragers, please beware! You must take extra care to be sure that what you are harvesting is wild carrot—not its deadly lookalike, poison hemlock. Crush a few leaves. If they smell like fresh carrot, you’re safe. If they have a foul odor, leave it alone. This is serious stuff, folks, so pay attention. Mistakes with this plant have cost lives.
“Anne’s Flower”
China Bayles
Pecan Springs Enterprise
The telephone beside the bed was ringing. I climbed toward it out of a dream where I was lying flat on my back, smothered under a mound of musty old newspapers, antique photographs, and vintage clothing and furs—which turned out to be Winchester, stretched out beside me, nose to my feet, his tail in my face. Caitie’s cat, Mr. P, was curled up cozily on the other side. I opened one eye wide enough to see the phone, fumbled for the receiver, and lifted it.
“H’lo,” I mumbled between thick lips. “Who’z it?”
But I was hearing the dial tone and it wasn’t the phone that was ringing, anyway. It was the alarm clock, again. I had set it a half hour early, so
