Page 55 of Stolen Time

Because you love her,he realized then, with a kind of simple wonder.

As he walked down the porch steps and headed back to his car, he began to whistle.

Jerome didn’t boast anything as fancy as a real florist, but Seth had already learned that it was just as easy to pay one of his cousins a nickel to gather some flowers for him — roses and snapdragons and cheerful zinnias — and tie them with a ribbon before leaving them on the porch at his aunt Ruth and uncle Timothy’s house, along with a note for Deborah.

No wild declarations of love — Seth knew he was no poet, just a hard-working man who also happened to be a warlock — but a proposal that they go to the dance hall in Cottonwood on Friday night, where a local band he knew was good would be playing. He supposed they could have gone dancing earlier than this, and yet he thought it was a better idea to have a few dinners and a picnic or so under their belt before he started waltzing with her.

Did she even remember how to dance? He had no real idea, although it seemed as if she appeared to recall most things that required simple motor memory.

Well, if she wasn’t especially keen on the idea of going to a dance hall, they could always have another picnic. Several spots along the Verde River offered smooth, sandy shores, perfect places to lay out a blanket and share a meal…places secluded enough that he knew he and Deborah would be shielded from any prying eyes.

All day he couldn’t stop thinking about that impulsive kiss she’d pressed against his cheek, although he wouldn’t allow the happy memory to distract him from his work. Still, he was cheered to see a note tucked under the doormat when he returned home a little after six.

Dancing on Friday would be fun,Deborah had written,but I’m not sure I remember how. You’ll have to show me.

Which was more than fine by him. Although he would never count himself an expert, he could manage a box step and the foxtrot, although he knew better than to attempt a tango, even as tempting as the thought of lowering her into a seductive dip might be.

He went inside and laid her note on the kitchen table, then commenced washing up so he might review his options for supper. Although he still had some cold chicken in the icebox, the thought of eating it didn’t seem terribly appealing. Maybe he should walk up to the English Kitchen and get some noodles to bring back here for dinner. In general, he did his best to avoid that sort of splurge, but he knew he was feeling restless and thought that maybe getting out and taking a walk up the hill to the restaurant would help him work off some of his nervous energy.

It wasn’t just him, he realized as he headed out. The whole town seemed to have an odd energy to it, a shift he couldn’t quite put his finger on, as if something fundamental had changed, even if it all appeared much the same to him. People smiled and waved at him as he walked up Hull Street toward the EnglishKitchen, although no one approached to discuss precisely what was so exciting.

At times like this, when it felt as if there was some momentous news he’d somehow missed, he wished he’d splurged and bought a telephone for his bungalow, even though at the time it had seemed like an expense he didn’t need to make. In a town as small as Jerome, notes such as the one Deborah had left for him seemed to work perfectly well.

He was just leaving the restaurant, a bag of noodles in his hand, when he bumped into his mother, of all people.

“Oh, there you are,” she said. “I just walked down to your house, but you weren’t home.”

“I decided I wanted some noodles for dinner,” he replied, hefting the bag he held.

She gave it a dismissive glance. “No, family dinner tonight. We have a lot to discuss.”

“We do?” Seth said, more mystified than ever. Like everyone else, his mother had that same air of barely suppressed excitement about her, as if she bubbled inside with news she was just dying to share.

“Yes,” she said firmly, locking her arm with his. “Let’s go.”

He supposed he could have protested, although he knew when Molly McAllister got that look in her eyes, it was better to go along for the ride.

Besides, while he might have wasted some money on those noodles, he knew he would get much better at the family flat above the mercantile.

When they arrived, the table was already set, and the rich aroma of chicken à la king filled the air. This only increased Seth’s puzzlement, since he knew his mother never splurged on such a meal unless it was a very special occasion.

His father and Charles stood near the table, obviously waiting for them to arrive. Exactly why Molly had gone on hermission to find Seth rather than sending Henry or Charles, he couldn’t say for sure, although he knew his mother tended to have a better sixth sense about where to find him than either his father or his brother did.

“Sit down, sit down,” Molly said. “I’ll just bring in the chicken, and then Charles can share his news.”

Charles was the source of all this excitement? Seth couldn’t begin to think why. Somehow he doubted that his brother would have announced to everyone that he was quitting the bootlegging business, which was the only news Seth would have liked to hear.

Or…had Mary suddenly relented? He supposed he could see why such a change of heart would be an important reversal for his family, even though he still couldn’t quite understand why so many other people in Jerome would be happy to hear such news.

Molly returned and set the large bowl full of chicken à la king near her husband’s place setting, along with another bowl full of egg noodles. After she sat down, she sent an encouraging glance at her oldest son.

“We’re all here, Charles, so go ahead and tell your brother the news.”

Unlike their parents, Charles didn’t seem very happy at all. His jaw was set, and his blue eyes glittered underneath the bright electric chandelier overhead.

“It appears I’m Abigail’s consort,” he said, his tone flat.

For a second or two, Seth could only stare at his brother in surprise.

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