Page 90 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“It’s yours. It will keep me from worrying as much.”
“You’ve always been a nice man, George Gleason.”
“Good night, ma’am.”
Charlotte went inside and lit the lamp. Then she sat at the rickety table and gorged herself on the best cold ham and biscuits she’d ever eaten. She made her bed on the floor for the second night in a row, but was so tired, she barely noticed.
***
The rhythmic patter of rain against the roof woke her the next morning. Even though George’s men seemed capable, she felt compelled to check the main room for leaks. Everything was dry, thank goodness.
Charlotte opened the shutters to allow some light in. The rain had picked up. She could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance, and the thick blanket of gray clouds seemed set in. There wouldn’t be any clearing of the road today.
When she turned around and surveyed the much tidier room, she spotted her trunk in the corner. “George must have brought it,” she murmured as she knelt in front of it, grateful for clean clothes.
She sifted through the contents until she found a summer-weight cotton dress. Not work clothes but more suitable for her new rustic life than silk and satin.
“Hello in the cabin!” a voice called.
Popping up onto her knees, Charlotte peered through the window. Three men headed her way, carrying large, covered baskets. On second glance, she realized one wasn’t a basket at all but made of tin and the size of a bathtub.
She got to her feet and went to the door. “There must be a mistake. I didn’t order any of this.”
“No mistake. It’s from Mrs. Jackson.”
“Which Mrs. Jackson?” Charlotte inquired. “Was it Jenny?”
“No, it’s me,” a feminine voice said from behind the wall of men. “Let them in, Charlotte. They had to walk from the road, and this stuff is probably getting heavy.”
Once she stepped aside, they filed in, set their burdens down, and then filed back out. When the last one left, Mrs. Luke Jackson entered, her arms full of a dark-haired, brown-eyed toddler who looked identical to his father.
“Wisteria. What is all of this?”
“Just my way of being neighborly.”
Charlotte looked inside one basket, finding it filled with food—bacon, fresh-baked bread, preserves, canned vegetables, and more—enough to last her a month. When she lifted the cloth covering the second basket, shediscovered linens and blankets inside. The bathtub held towels and scented soaps.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Charlotte whispered, “This is more than neighborly. I can’t pay you for this.”
“It’s a gift and not nearly enough to repay the woman who saved my life.”
As tears filled her eyes, the little boy asked, “Mama’s friend sad?”
“Those are happy tears, baby. And might become ecstatic tears when she sees the men bring in the bed.”
“You are all so kind,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“We think of you as a friend, Charlotte. Regardless of what our husbands might say.” She frowned, suddenly. “That didn’t come out how I meant it to. They’re grateful for all you’ve done, too.”
“I understand.” Her eyes went to the baby. “Who is this beautiful boy?”
“This is Micah,” she said, hugging the boy tight as she moved closer. “Can you say hello to Miss Charlotte?”
“Pretty,” he said, pointing at her. Then he reached out and patted her hair. “Red!”
“That’s right. More like a rich, very appealing auburn,” she whispered to Charlotte apologetically, “but he’s just learning his colors and, we don’t quibble.” Wisteria glanced around. The cabin was 100 percent better than the day before but still wasn’t much. “Jenny said you refused to stay with her. I wish I could offer you more.”
“I’ll be fine here. Hopefully, I’ll have everything cleared up with the bank and the Red Eye when the judge comes through next week.”
