Page 61 of A Convenient Heart
“Thank you,” Jack said. “I needed to hear that.”
“Ain’t it funny how God’s Providence put us on this train together?”
It was something, all right.
“I got one more question for you.”
Jack nodded for him to continue.
“Did you tell her you loved her? Your girl?”
No. He’d been too much of a coward to show his feelings when he’d seen the hurt he’d caused.
“Maybe you should.”
* * *
Merritt heard a shuffle of feet as she tugged another hardback chair into perfect alignment with its neighbor.
She glanced up to see Corrine and Danna walk into the dance hall.
The compassion on her friends’ expressions was too much to bear, and she gave an impatient sniff as she moved a step forward and rearranged another chair.
Merritt had counted earlier, but she turned to the front of the room and began to count the chairs all over again. It gave her an excuse not to face her friends directly. The signs of her tears from earlier had faded. No more splotchy cheeks or red tip of her nose.
She was fine.
“Have you eaten lunch?” Corrine asked.
“…forty-five, forty-six—just a moment,” she called to her friend. More counting, the rhythm a constant in her head. Sixty chairs.
It was more space than she’d had last year in the classroom, when families had squished together, most standing, to see their children perform.
She glanced regretfully at the plain blue backdrop, hastily assembled and painted after she’d left the preacher’s home this morning. The room still smelled of paint, and they wouldn’t have the scene for the manger, but it would have to do.
Thinking of the destruction of the beautiful artwork that had been made by her students and Jack made her angry.
She moved through the rows of perfectly straight chairs to the tables she’d dragged to one side of the room.
Danna’s and Corrine’s footsteps rang out as they trailed her across the room.
“How can we help?” Corrine asked carefully.
“I think everything is in order,” Merritt said with a falsely cheerful note to her voice. She wished they would just go away.
She caught sight of the haphazard way the auction pieces were displayed. That simply wouldn’t do.
She began to straighten them, wrinkling her nose as she tried to decide whether to sit up or lay down the porcelain doll donated by the mercantile.
“Merritt.” She’d heard a gentle tone in Danna’s usually strident voice only once before—when the marshal had been attempting to comfort a young child who had witnessed a tragedy.
Merritt found it easier to focus on the small changes to the auction items than face her friends. She was fine, after all.
“Stop,” Corrine commanded, and now there was an impatient snap to her voice.
When Merritt reached for the next piece, a black hat that reminded her of Jack with a piercing intensity, Corrine stepped forward and gripped her forearm. “Merritt!”
Merritt felt a little breathless when she faced her friends, her eyes instantly smarting. She didn’t want to cry anymore.
