Page 17 of A Late-Blooming Rose
He growled. Logically knowing she was right didn’t make him feel better.
She patted his arm. “We have to trust Sheriff Granger and the posse will take care of that gang. Those outlaws would be foolish to return here. Since the robbery, everyone is vigilant, locking their doors and eyeing strangers. Men are going about wearing pistols or carrying rifles. Some of the ladies, too. Rose and Cora will be perfectly safe with us.”
“Last night, I made sure Sam and Rufus are armed.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “My Colt is under the pillow. We’re keeping the doors and windows locked. Rufus knows to look through the window before answering the front door. But I’d feel better if you and Joshua carried weapons. Joshua could take one of mine. Then there’s that lady’s derringer I bought you before we left New Orleans.”
Delia wagged a finger in front of his face. “Preacher, remember.” Then, she patted her chest. “Preacher’s wife.Ministers and their spouses don’t go around armed.”
“I don’t know why not,” he grumbled. “Turning the other cheek is one thing. Murderous robbers are another.”
“Let me tell you what I’ve put in Horace’s basket,” Delia said, obviously changing the subject by drawing back the cloth covering the top. She touched each item. “Several big jars of chicken soup. Custard. A pound cake. Ham. One bag of coffee and one of tea. Four cans of peaches and a bag of white sugar. Oh, and a jar of cream.”
“Do you think that’s enough?”
“We won’t be the only ones contributing. I’ve heard the Hatters already had a steady stream of visitors this morning.”
Andre forced a smile. “Then we must join the stream.” He gestured toward the bed. “Let’s pack everything and pay them a visit. I’ll have Sam hitch up the horses.”
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“After we pay a visit to the Hatters, I’ll go over and check on progress at the library. The workers are supposed to break ground and dig out the basement.”
“You’ll be supervising dirt.” Rising on tiptoe, Delia kissed his cheek. Then with a swirl of ocher and cream skirts, she whirled and bustled from the room.
Andre stared after her for a moment. Then he turned back to the bed and began folding the dressing gown, hoping Delia was right about Rose and Cora—indeed, all his loved ones—being safe in Sweetwater Springs.
* * *
Outside, the day was warm and radiant with the beautiful golden light of Indian summer, although distant clouds hinted of rain. Under other conditions, Andre would have enjoyed a stroll with Delia, but aside from the weather and his daughter’s company, nothing about today’s errand felt pleasant.
When Sam pulled up in front of a small, whitewashed house set back on Third Street near the railroad, Andre had to force himself to leave the surrey. For the first time, he wondered if Mrs. Hatter would welcome him or if she blamed him for what happened to her husband. He assumed she knew Andre was the primary force organizing the Harvest Festival.
Behind a white picket fence, the yard was neatly groomed with a line of beds along the front of the house. In the corner, an aspen tree shivered, the leaves already turning gold and auburn.
Andre made a mental note to send over his gardener in a few weeks. When the leaves started falling, the grass would need a trim, and the garden and flowerbeds should be prepared for the winter. He didn’t want Horace to fret about his yard or set back his recovery by doing the work.
He walked up the dirt path next to Delia, who insisted on carrying the parcel containing the book and his slippers, while he hefted the blanket-wrapped bundle of night attire and pillows. With each step, he felt the unfamiliar weight of the Colt on his hip, hidden under his jacket, a constant reminder that once again danger might sweep into their town.
Behind them came Sam, hauling the big basket of food, heavier than before due to Cook slipping in a few last-minute items.
They stepped onto a narrow porch, running the length of the front, with two old rockers on either side of a round table. Lace curtains fluttered at the partially-opened windows on both sides of the door.
Sam set the basket on the small table on the porch. “I’ll leave this here and see to the horses.”
After such a short drive, the team didn’t need to be watered or rubbed down. But Andre knew Sam would keep watch and assure their safety. He knocked on the door.
The lace curtain twitched, and the door opened suddenly. A thin, gray-haired woman who looked about Andre’s age stood in the doorway. “Oh, my, Mr. Bellaire and Mrs. Norton.” She made quick hand motions to usher them inside. “Please come in.”
Andre picked up the basket and touched Delia’s back. She preceded him inside and into one long room, with a kitchen to the right and a parlor to the left.
He lifted the basket, setting it on the floor, and closed the door after him.
Mrs. Hatter waved toward the window. “Why, you just missed Mrs. Murphy. She brought over a plate of oatmeal cookies.”
Surprised, Andre glanced at Delia to see her expression upon hearing the crotchety woman had bestowed kindness on a neighbor.
Delia smiled. “I love Mrs. Murphy’s oatmeal cookies. I don’t think anyone makes them better.”
To be fair, although the woman was difficult and prone to criticize and gossip, sometimes—belying her cantankerous exterior—one caught a glimpse of a heart softening toward those in need.
